


The BananaBird Chronichles

by peaches2217



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Actually it's gonna be a little bit of everything, But mostly fluff, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I'm used to tagging fics on Tumblr where I can add lots of snark, M/M, One Shot Collection, Romance, Why do the tags feel so empty, but doing that here feels so... wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaches2217/pseuds/peaches2217
Summary: An outgoing Japanese idol boy and a reserved British choir boy. They have their differences, but they're head-over-heals for one another. And between overbearing but well-meaning housemates/family members, mental health struggles, and eternal puberty, there's never a dull moment.





	1. Good Morning!

The most ungodly shriek Len had ever heard filled his ears. Not at all out-of-place or unfamiliar: rather, it was the shrill scream of his alarm, signaling the arrival of 7 AM and the necessity of getting out of bed. Which just made the noise all the more ungodly.

He made the best attempt at stretching he could make while still on his side and groaned. Wednesday. It was Wednesday. Just two more days until he could sleep in to his heart’s content. Too tired to even fantasize about the far-off Saturday, he blankly stared at the window. The early morning sun streamed through the blinds, most of the rays going directly over him; his eyes wearily followed them as he rolled onto his back, then his other side.

To his right, he was met with a face full of flaxen hair, tangled and glowing in the sunshine it had captured.

Suddenly, Len felt a little less tired.

But lazy as ever, he allowed his gaze to linger, following the wavy locks, admiring the rising and falling of the shoulders they fell just above, taking in the full beauty of the figure sleeping beside him (who had hogged the blanket at some point and was now cozily wrapped within it).

Wow.

Len was what he liked to call “Really Freaking Lucky”. This was the sight he got to wake up to every morning. And every morning, it left him speechless, a little bit breathless. Messy hair, oversized and wrinkled nightclothes, oftentimes a small puddle of drool on the pillow… Alright, a sleeping beauty Oliver was not. But he looked so damn _peaceful_ that Len couldn’t bring himself to care. And he almost couldn’t bring himself to wake his lovely _koibito_ from his slumber.

Almost.

“Ollie.” Closing the distance that had come between them in their sleep, Len pulled himself against the other’s back, burying his nose into that fluffy mess of hair. Gingerbread and vanilla filled his nostrils and washed over him and tempted him with just a few more minutes of rest. “Ollie-kun. C’mon. Time to get up.”

Oliver barely even stirred, just groaned and muttered something in English that Len could only assume was a protest.

“No, you don’t have a say in it.”

“ _Guwhuuuuuuuh_.”

“Don’t ‘ _Guwhuuuuuuh_ ’ at me.”

So Oliver complied; he shut his mouth and _silently_ took Len’s hands, twining their fingers together and bringing them to his chest, and twisted nearly onto his stomach, trapping Len into an embrace against his back.

And then gave one final “ _Guh._ ” for good measure.

Sometimes, Len felt less like an equal partner and more like a disgruntled parent.

But oh, Oliver was so warm, his clothes and skin so soft, his wintry shampoo so soothing on the senses. His breath was deep and even, suggesting that he’d fallen asleep once more. And his hold on Len’s hands, even in that sleep, was unrelenting. Firm. Sleepy… What little energy he’d amassed since waking up was no match for such a masterful manipulation. Len’s eyes fluttered shut as he gave himself up completely.

Wednesday. Close enough to Saturday. Sleeping in a little bit wouldn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have entirely too many only-slightly-connected oneshots featuring these two, so I figured, why not compile them? So if you're reading this, welcome to The BananaBird Chronicles! Later chapters are gonna feature some more pairings (mainly KaiMei and MikuRin, although a few others will likely crop up) - I hope that's okay! And I hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> And... please do forgive the summary. I can't do summaries without sounding too flowery. -.-'


	2. Recital

That Oliver had made Japan his home was, to the public at large, unknown. He’d never gotten permission from his Master to leave England (or from his fellow Engloids, for that matter, but their approval didn’t mean much to him anymore), and he’d never gotten permission from the Masters of his current housemates. So they all had to be careful. A casual scroll through anyone’s social media would suggest that Oliver merely dropped into Kyokotta every so often on work-related business, and that was the story they were content with telling everyone.

Luckily, this didn’t take much of a hit on Oliver’s musical career. His voice was too soft, too sweet for the kinds of songs that made for a good show, so he never took part in concerts and didn’t miss much in having to give those up. And he could easily publish his songs online from anywhere and no one would be any wiser.

Yet remaining at home while everyone went out to record, to tour, to perform… it was a bit lonely. At home everyone was quick to remind him that he was one of them, that he was a rightful member of their family, publicity or no, but when he was the only one who couldn’t be on a stage in front of an audience, such sentiments felt rather hard to believe. Which was when Luka stepped in and informed Oliver that a local choir would be holding auditions soon.

Having been created with the sole purpose of singing, he easily secured his spot.

His family was almost more excited than he was. When the placement announcement came in, they celebrated with a home-cooked meal and a big cake; when he returned from a rehearsal with news that he’d have a solo, they all went out to eat and drink. And between the joy of singing with an ensemble and the support of his house, Oliver had never felt quite so alive.

Although, he realized now as he stared out at the audience, perhaps there was such a thing as _too much_ support.

A formal choir performance. Rather stuffy, really. The singers in matching suits and dresses, an audience that quietly applauded between pieces. Yet sitting front and center was a family of eight, who hooted and hollered and _waved bloody glowsticks_ as if this were one of their own performances.

In between sets, Oliver’s eyes found Len’s, and he made a face - scrunched eyebrows, lips in a tight line, nostrils flared. A face he hoped screamed _For the love of God help them reign it in._ After all, if anyone knew how to save him from a bad situation, it would be his metaphorical knight on a white steed.

As he stepped from the stands to take his place center-stage for his solo, he painfully discovered that Len’s interpretation of the face had been… substantially different.

“ _Hell yeah!_ ” he screamed over the polite clapping of the rest of the crowd, slapping his hands together so frantically Oliver feared he might break a wrist or two. “ _That’s my boyfriend! Whooo! You’re gonna kill it, babe!_ ”

In spite of how shy and fidgety he normally was, Oliver’s stage presence was impeccable. He could stand straight and tall and keep a perfectly straight face no matter what was thrown his way. He could not, however, control the rush of blood that flooded his face and turned his vision red and made the rest of his body feel cold as ice.

Once Len finally and mercifully fell silent, he scooted to the edge of his seat and held his blue glowstick to his chin and flashed a thumbs-up and a wink to Oliver.

The pianist, somehow oblivious to the chaos, tapped out the first few chords.

Oliver wanted nothing more than to run off the stage, run into the first row, give all eight of them a slap across their smiling faces and a nice telling off. And another smack to Len, with the additional promise to make him sleep on the floor for the next week. But… they didn’t mean any harm. He knew that. Had they any idea they were humiliating him, they would stop without question. Yes. He could always speak with them after the show, calmly inform them that you _don’t fucking scream at a choir performance,_ and then next time they would be on their best behavior.

...If, following tonight, there _was_ a next time.

But for now he didn’t have time to worry about that. All he had time to do was smile and nod to his embarrassing yet beloved family and begin what might possibly be his final solo.

Yes, they’d all be getting an earful later. But for now, he had face to save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Japanloids have no idea how to behave in formal concert settings and you can't convince me otherwise.
> 
> Or maybe you can, but c'mon, it's a fun thought. They were kinda made to perform.


	3. Drunkeness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another thought I can't be swayed on: Meiko makes her own drinks. They're not always particularly good, but she rarely locks her concoctions up, so the younger 'loids like to sneak the drinks out so they can get drunk off their asses without supervision.

Dizzy. Fuzzy. Len didn’t register the _thump_ until a few seconds after it happened, and it took a few seconds more to realize the sound had come from his own back making contact with the floor. Fluorescent lights, muted yet lurid and bright, filled his vision, making his head pound, but he couldn’t stop staring. So pretty. So mesmerizing. So...

Wet. He’d… spilt something? His drink! Crap, he’d spilt his drink! That blissfully delicious bottle of Meiko’s own personal mix, wasted, all over the floor, all over his clothes. He lifted a hand and tried to ask for another bottle. Whatever came out of his mouth was certainly a collection of words, but he wasn’t really sure if they were the _right_ words.

“Len. Leeeeen.”

The cold, unfeeling blobs of light were blocked from his sight, replaced with the outline of fluffy flaxen hair, pale skin, a single golden orb. Len didn’t need sobriety to recognize the figure.

“Oh-lee-baaaah.” Feeling suddenly dry and warm, Len let his raised hand drop to Oliver’s neck, brought his other hand to connect to it. “Ooooh-leeee.”

Without much prodding, Oliver collapsed on top of him. Suddenly the lights were back, glaring and harsh; Len closed his eyes and focused instead on the boy in his arms. He smelled like the beer they’d spent all night getting drunk on, like caramel and gingerbread, fresh and warm and good enough to eat. Mmm. Len’s stomach grumbled. Fueled by warmth and hunger, he tilted his head to the left and brushed Oliver’s soft hair out of the way and licked his ear.

He tasted less like sugar and more like sweat. Not that Len minded, especially not with the reaction it drew from Oliver’s lips.

“Mm.” Len relaxed, and Oliver met him halfway, turning his face so that their lips could meet. Though they encountered trouble attempting even that much: lips met nose, cheek, ear, neck, everything but lips. Oliver finally gave up and contented himself to suckling at Len’s jawline.

“ _Mm._ ” Burying his fingers into that luxurious hair, Len sighed and let his him work his magic. “Oh-lee- _baaah_.” He carefully peeked his eyes open once more, letting the lights blind him.

He was in heaven. Pure, absolute heaven.

Somewhere in the darkest recesses of Len’s mind, he realized he was still thirsty. No one had ever brought him another bottle. But oh well. It could wait.

~~~

Rin stood in the doorway, watching her brother and her best guyfriend lazily making out on the kitchen floor, her face beset with a sympathetic grimace. Behind her, Meiko couldn’t stop cackling like a mad woman. Which answered Rin’s question before it even slipped her lips.

“Mei-chan.”

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t bother telling them that stuff’s non-alcoholic, did you?”

“Must’a slipped my mind.”


	4. A Tale of Groceries and Physical Contact

The grocery run alternated each week between a randomly selected pair from the nine Vocaloids living in the Kyokotta household. Easy, but a bit time consuming. Straws were normally drawn to determine who the responsibility would fall upon; this week, however, Oliver and Len had volunteered, selflessly offering to give up their afternoon to accomplish the noble task of securing another week’s worth of nourishment for their beloved family.

Of course, if they _happened_ to bring along some extra cash, and if they _happened_ to stop and get smoothies and sip them while walking through the park together, and if they _happened_ to avoid the grocery store until the end of the day when they were ready to go back home, well, that was just pure coincidence.

Len beamed to himself as he strolled alongside Oliver, the sun pleasantly warm on his skin. They’d done it. They’d survived their first date, and they’d only spent the first half of it stumbling over their words and blushing and avoiding eye contact. Then gradually they’d settled down and began acting as they always had and... it was pretty nice.

Somewhere deep down, he felt a little bad. It hadn’t been much in the way of a date, really. It wasn’t much different from any other time they’d hung out. But they’d gotten to spend several hours together, laughing and chatting and just having a wonderful time. So that counted in his book. He certainly hoped Oliver felt the same.

If he didn’t, he wasn’t letting on. To Len’s left, his best-friend-turned-slightly-more-than-that looked equally radiant, a subtle smile curling on his lips, which — Len chuckled to himself when he realized it — were adorned with a sizable blue smudge, stained from his smoothie.

If… If he were to kiss those lips, would they still taste like blueberries?

Len’s heart skipped in his chest at the thought. Technically speaking, he now actually held that right. Six days earlier ( _whoa,_ had it really almost been a week?), they had exchanged nervous and breathless confessions. It took another day after that, once the dizziness and shaking and red-faced amazement wore off, to decide that, yes, they wanted to try their hand at a relationship.

But they never did get around to their first kiss. The romanticism had come grinding to a halt when Len suggested they tell the household the news.

Issues had come to light, issues Oliver still harbored from when he lived in England with his original household. They’d known he was gay. They were neither happy with that fact nor supportive of him once they knew. He’d amassed the courage to come out to his current household a few months earlier, an act that was met with praise and celebration but nevertheless left him emotionally exhausted for an entire week.

And realizing he’d have to do it all over again, Oliver had been mortified.

_“I want to go on a date first,”_ he’d finally decided after talking/crying all of his fears out. _“Let’s get through one date, be able to say we’re really and truly dating… then I think I’ll be ready.”_

Len, truthfully, felt it wasn’t even necessary. Rin knew (he’d told her before Oliver brought his concerns up), which meant Miku probably knew, which meant there was a good chance everyone knew and was just waiting for them to make the official announcement. But nothing was truly unnecessary if it gave Oliver peace of mind, so Len devised the plan to disguise their first date as a grocery run and that did, in fact, make him feel better.

And honestly, it made Len feel better too. The family had a bad habit of hovering, especially where relationships were involved. When Rin and Miku had gone on their first date, Meiko and Kaito and Gumi had trailed them to make sure all went well (and Len may or may not have been there too at Miku’s request as an emergency wingman, but that was something he would neither confirm nor deny). Knowing that they really were alone gave Len peace of mind as well.

Knowing they were alone, he could easily pull Oliver into a blueberry-flavored kiss and not care who saw.

A mental slap to the face stopped that thought in its tracks. _You don’t kiss on the first date,_ his inner voice admonished, and he turned his gaze back to the sidewalk and forced the notion from his head. Instead, he cleared his throat to get Oliver’s attention.

“This has been fun!” he chimed. Oliver made a noise of agreement.

“Yeah. Let’s do this again soon!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Len caught sight of Oliver whipping his head around; when Len turned his head, he was looking away, but it wasn’t enough to hide the blush that spread all the way to his ears. “Or, you know, just, whenever you want. _If_ you want. If not, that’s okay, because today was a lot of fun anyway so I don’t mind if you don’t, um…”

To cease his ramblings, Len placed a hand on his far shoulder, squeezing him into a brief side-hug. “Definitely. In fact, I was kinda hoping we could make this a regular thing.”

He could feel Oliver relax beneath his arm, the tension in his shoulders releasing, although he wasn’t sure what to make of the tiny, almost inaudible gasp that slipped from him beforehand. Surprise, probably. “If you want to, then… Yeah. Definitely.”

Len gave another squeeze before letting him go, an attempt at reassuring comfort. Oliver had come a long way regarding his self-esteem. When he first moved to Japan at the beginning of the year, he couldn’t even look anyone in the eye or speak above a whisper, much less express anything resembling confidence. But he still had a long way to go. And Len had made it his personal goal to help him get there.

When he looked back over, however, Oliver’s head was down, his eye focused on his feet. His eyebrow was scrunched up and his lips were puckered. Some combination of nervous and deep in thought, Len figured.

“Ollie-kun? You okay?”

Oliver didn’t blink or jolt like he normally did when pulled out of a train of thought. He pressed his lips tighter together and kept on staring.

Len fought against the urge to gulp. That gasp when he’d hugged him. Had he gone too far? He hadn’t even thought twice about it. In private, they were pretty comfortable with being close, and they’d gotten more comfortable with casual hugging in the past few months. That was in private, though. Was Oliver upset? Uncomfortable?

Before he could voice those concerns, Oliver spoke up, eye still trained on the ground.

“Len, I wanted to ask if… I-I know we’re... we — I mean, we’ve only been dating for a few days so, you know, feel free to say no, I won’t mind, I promise. But...”

_Can you back off a little?_ Len half-expected to hear. He was already formulating his apology when Oliver spoke his actual request.

“Can I…” He swallowed. Then he spoke so softly that Len could hardly even hear what followed. “Can I hold your hand?”

The question took a moment to register, took another two moments to sink in. Then Len stumbled, stopped right where he stood.

Len, who moments earlier had been daydreaming about kissing Oliver, who even more recently was worried a side-hug was too public a display of affection, suddenly went hot, nearly frozen in shock as his entire body was engulfed in flames.

In his mind, a vivid fantasy played out like a movie: he swept Oliver’s hand up in one smooth movement, bowing gracefully to place a kiss to the back of it, and said something suave and romantic like _“It’s always here for you to hold, my darling”_.

And then the illusion vanished, popped like a flimsy soap bubble, leaving in its place a void that Len could only fill by stuttering like an idiot.

“Um, y-yeah,” he choked, hardly able to hear himself over the pounding of his heart and the rush of blood in his ears. “Yeah. That sounds good. Yeah. I’d like that. Yeah. Okay. Let’s hold hands. Yeah. S-sounds good. Okay.”

It wasn’t quite the response he was going for, but oh well.

“...Do you need a minute?” Oliver’s voice sounded so concerned, so… _angelic,_ and it was almost enough to snap Len out of his funk.

“I think I’m good,” Len squeaked.

A few deep breaths later, and their palms touched, then their fingers twined together.

Oliver’s hand was… hot. A little damp, even. He’d been sweating. From the heat of the sun? From anxiousness? Fear? Len looked to him at the same time Oliver decided his shoes were no longer the most interesting sight in the world. He _was_ sweating. Not pouring perspiration, but his forehead glistened, and the bandages that covered the left side of his face looked darker than they had when they’d gone out from the house.

Above all, his eye — there were whole galaxies in that eye, Len was sure of it. Gold and shimmering in the glint of the setting sun and staring right through him, right into him. Maybe that was what Oliver was hiding. Surely if he uncovered both eyes, a mere mortal wouldn’t be able to handle their combined gaze. God knew he probably wouldn’t.

Had he always been so… handsome? Len had always thought he was cute, beautiful even. But _holy—_

“ _Get out of the way, assholes!_ ”

A very undignified _“Gyah”_ forced its way from Len as he was shoved to the edge of the sidewalk, a very aggravated old man stalking past the starstruck duo.

Once he’d passed, Len looked back at Oliver, who looked just as startled as him. He realized suddenly his hand was cold and sore. Oliver’s grip was cutting off the circulation. And his was just as tight.

“Did that just happen?” Oliver asked. Len nodded, not sure if he was referring to the old man or the connection of their souls that preceded said incident. Whichever it was, Oliver snickered, and Len could feel his grip become more lose, more relaxed. “You’ve got this look on your face.”

“Oh?” Len smiled right back at him, and he too relaxed almost instinctively. “What kind of look?”

“A really… dumb look.”

A full-blown laugh overtook Len now; Oliver joined in kind, just as naturally as always.

“Gee, thanks!”

“I meant you looked dumbstruck! Not that you yourself look dumb!”

“Nope. I know how you really feel. I feel so betrayed.”

“Len, come on! It was a slip-up!”

Whatever had happened when their hands connected passed over them, settled into the backs of their minds. The rest of the day went on as it had before. They bantered and laughed and wandered the aisles of the grocery store and got what was needed and made it back to the house just as the last light left the sky.

And never once did they let go of the other’s hand. To Len, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like his hand was made to be held by Oliver’s.

Whatever had happened, they didn’t speak of it again. But when Oliver finally let go just before they entered the house, Len couldn’t ignore the pang of sadness in his chest. Even as they put the groceries up in the refrigerator, he found himself wanting to set it all aside, reach out, take his hand for just a little bit longer.

Maybe he’d been starved for physical affection all this time. Maybe Oliver just had him under a spell.

Suddenly, a realization dawned on Len, one that made his knees weak the longer he dwelt on it: he’d been overwhelmed to the point of having a near out-of-body experience the first time they _held hands._ What would happen when they… _If_ they…

“Len-kun, you okay?”

Len spoke before he was completely back in his own head. “Yeah, I’m good. Just thirsty.”

Oliver smiled, that beautiful, adorable smile that always set Len’s heart a good few BPM above its normal pace. “You can go sit on the couch if you want. I’ll finish up and bring you some water.”

Before Len departed, Oliver pulled him into a quick hug, gave his hand an even quicker squeeze.

Len barely made it to the couch before his knees gave out on him.

To think, he’d daydreamed about kissing only hours before. About _initiating_ their first kiss. And _surviving_. At this rate, if they ever kissed, it would probably — no, not “probably”. It _would_ kill him.

Len pondered that thought for a while, staring at the ceiling. Footsteps made their way from the kitchen into the living room, and Oliver called out to him. And he grinned to himself so hard that his jaw began to ache.

If that was how he was going to die, then he couldn’t think of a better way to go.


	5. The Mark of a Man

****Of the nine members of the Kyokotta household, Oliver was the only one whose skin was completely unmarked.

Each of the Cryptonloids — Meiko, Kaito, Miku, the twins, and Luka — had similar tattoos on their upper-left arms, blocky, bright red numbers indicating the order in which they were created: 00 for the heads of the household, 01 for Miku, 02 for the twins, and 03 for Luka. From Miku on down, these tattoos had been part of them from the beginning, marked into their skin before their programming had even been uploaded into their bodies.

Meiko’s and Kaito’s tattoos had been added on later, by their own choice.

 _“It was a month or two before Rin and Len came along,”_ Meiko had explained to Oliver one day shortly after his move to Japan. _“Miku was the only one with a tattoo. She felt really out-of-place. So Kaito and I got these bad boys at a shop the next day.”_ She’d smiled then, leaning back into the couch and letting herself get lost in the memory. _“Miku was so touched. That was the first time I ever saw her cry. Or Kaito, for that matter. He cried a lot when he got it. Turns out he’s got a super low pain threshold.”_

Gakupo and Gumi were created without tattoos. Theirs, like Meiko’s and Kaito’s, came later, of their own will. Deep red camellias decorated Gakupo’s back from shoulder to shoulder, a delicate and distinctively Japanese tattoo for a distinctively Japanese man. Gumi’s was less traditional: a ribbed, orange eighth note, whose stem was designed to look like the leafy top of a carrot.

(Oliver had never actually seen it with his own eye, as it was, apparently, located on her left butt cheek. But Luka, the only person who ever got to see Gumi naked, had confirmed its existence, and that was good enough for him.)

As if being the only foreigner in the household didn’t make him feel out-of-place enough. The Kyokotta household was Oliver’s family, his closest friends, the ones who accepted him when no one else would. And he wanted to be as much like them as he possibly could.

More than anything in the world, he wanted a tattoo.

But of _what?_

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Actually,” Gumi piped up when Oliver mentioned his desire at the weekly Thursday Night Household Dinner, “I made a proposal a while back, and I think this is the perfect time to bring it back!”

“We’re not getting Crypton number tattoos,” Gakupo quickly yet calmly countered. “Master would kill us.”

Gumi reached across the table to tap his nose with the tip of one chopstick. “A scrawny guy sitting in an office all day verses a big, brawny, buff android with a katana? Oh, I’m _shaking_. Anyway, don’t think about Master, think about us! We’ve got Zero through Three. You’ll be Four, I’ll be Five, and Ollie-Ollie can be Six! It’d be perfect!”

“Actually, there _is_ a problem with that plan,” Miku said, passing over Luka’s delectable soba in favor of taking a bite straight out of a raw spring onion. “You’re forgetting that Teto-chan has Four. So Gakkun would have to be Five.”

“So to make all of our tattoos a full matching set,” Kaito said, “we’d have to invite Kasane-chan to come live with us, otherwise we’d be one short.”

“And considering she and Utane-chan have their own household to run,” Luka added, staring in unsurprised disappointment at Miku’s plate piled with spring onions and nothing more, “I’m pretty sure she’d turn that offer down.”

“If one more person says ‘Chan', I’m killing every last one of you and then myself,” Meiko grumbled, not nearly as inebriated as she probably wished she was.

Rin slammed her fist down onto the tabletop then, commanding everyone’s attention. “I’ve got a better idea: let’s get matching butt tattoos like Gumi’s! We can take a picture with all nine of us mooning the camera and then frame it and hang it in the entryway!”

Oliver left the table that night no more inspired than he’d been before.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It wasn’t until that Saturday, while he and Len were laying together in the garden discussing the hostility of Canadian geese and watching James preen his feathers on a branch overhead, that the idea came to him.

“A _what?_ ” Len asked, still a little taken aback by the sudden single-word outburst.

“Segno!” Oliver repeated, fishing in his pocket for his phone. “You know how on your promotional outfits you’ve always got a bass clef somewhere and on Rin’s she has a treble clef? Well on mine I’ve got a segno, which is…” He tapped the first picture his Google search pulled up and brandished the phone.

Len’s eyes lit up in recognition when he saw it. “Oh, cool! I never actually knew what that was called. Knew what it meant, but I didn’t realize it had a name.”

From above them, James chirped.

“James thinks it would make an epic tattoo,” Len translated. “And so do I.”

If Oliver hadn’t already made up his mind, the wholehearted approval of his two favorite boys certainly did it for him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Gaining total confidence in wanting a tattoo made Oliver more adventurous in his thoughts. He wanted a segno, small and black and either on his wrist or on the back of his left shoulder. (He might have entertained prettying up the left side of his face by getting it there, but that meant he’d have to take off his bandages for a total stranger and no, no, only one person got to see his deformity, he wasn’t _that_ adventurous.)

But why stop there? At his writing desk, he sketched up a few more designs. A tattoo for his dearest friend— a fluffy goldfinch on a snowy pine branch. A couple’s tattoo— a segno intertwined with a bass clef in a manner that _kiiiiiiiiind of_ looked like a heart if he squinted his eye enough. A second one that was just the two symbols inside of a heart. Yeah, that was better. A tattoo to immortalize the most heavenly of all earthly pleasures— golden caramel pudding, fresh from the fridge and surrounded by olive branches because everything looks prettier when you surround it with olive branches.

Everything that meant anything to him filled up page after page, people and things and experiences turning into art that Oliver had every intention of filling the canvas of his skin with. He was a simple person surrounded by spectacular beauty, and he wanted now more than ever to begin reflecting that beauty back.

And then he got to the tattoo parlor.

“ _I’m gonna die,_ ” he whimpered into Len’s shirt, digging the nails of his free hand into his back. “ _I’m gonna die and I haven’t even drafted up my will and everything’s going to James anyway but I should have at least gotten that in writing before going to face my death and there’s still so many things I wanted to do and—_ ”

A series of glances were cast back and forth between Len, Meiko, and the woman who hadn’t even touched the needle to Oliver’s wrist yet.

Once he had more or less rambled himself out, the artist looked at Meiko for approval, who looked at Len for confirmation, who finally nodded to the artist.

She moved in, and Len patted the back of Oliver’s head. “Bite my shoulder if you need to, okay, babe?”

That was all the warning he got.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The tiniest segno, easily hidden with a thin rope bracelet, was now a part of Oliver forever. The tattoo had taken five minutes, maybe ten. The teeth marks in Len’s shoulder would take longer to heal than the tattoo would.

When he got back from the parlor, he realized he’d left his tattoo drawings out on the writing desk.

Perhaps they were best left as drawings on paper and nothing more.

That evening, Oliver showed it off to the rest of the household, who _ooh_ ed and _aah_ ed and _aww, how cute!_ ed over it and congratulated him on finally achieving his goal. Meiko, who had borne witness to Oliver sobbing like a little bitch over a glorified flu shot, proudly told everyone how he hadn’t even flinched, how he took it better than Kaito had taken his.

“So?” Len asked, tracing his fingertips over the tattoo. “What do you think? Worth it?”

It was small and simple and kind of pathetic really, but it was _him_. A permanent mark of personhood, something that everyone in the household now had. Oliver smiled.

“Oh yeah. Definitely worth it.” His shoulders shook with some combination of a laugh and a shudder. “But… never again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only taking 7 on-campus credit hours next semester (one class I'm doing as an interim so it'll be over with in a week and then another is an easy A I'm taking online), so with any luck, I'll have a lot more time to write pretty soon! This semester's been so busy.
> 
> Also, I now have 6 Vocaloids (In addition to Oliver, Miku, and Rin and Len, Meiko and Kaito got here on Monday!), so I've got more projects in the works for my YouTube page! Whoo!


	6. At My Worst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if anyone here uses Vocaloid and is considering upgrading to Vocaloid 5, my advice: wait. It's constantly crashing and when it DOES work, it takes a long time for even basic changes to apply. It's really neat, but it still needs some work before it'll be practical for full-time use.
> 
> Anyway, that’s a lesson I spent $215 to learn. What have y'all learned recently?

Oh God.

Oliver knew from the moment he walked in that something was wrong. On the opposite side of the bed, facing the wall, Len sat motionless, only the back of his head visible. Which was concerning enough. Sometimes he would hide in that crevice if he was feeling overwhelmed and needed someplace small and closed-off to reground himself.

Still, no big deal, Oliver figured as he came around the bed to Len’s side. Nothing that he didn’t know how to handle.

Then he realized just _how_ off the situation was.

The first thing he noticed was how badly Len was shaking. Next was how tightly his arms were wound around his knees. Then the tears and snot streaking his cheeks, dripping from his chin, staining his shirt. His mouth was open, but except for the shaking, gasping breaths he took, he wasn’t making a sound.

This… wasn’t like anything he had seen before.

“Len?” he said, kneeling at his side. “Len, love, what’s going on?”

Unresponsive. Len didn’t so much as twitch or blink or do _anything_ to indicate he’d even heard Oliver. He stared at the wall, eyes wide and unmoving.

Oh no.

He’d never seen Len having a full-on panic attack. He’d never even seen a panic attack until now.

Oliver once thought he had a good idea of what anxiety entailed and how to deal with it. He himself struggled with depression. They’re both pretty common and require a lot of patience and comfort to curtail. Besides, he got anxious from time to time as well, so what more did he need to know?

A lot, he came to find out.

Occasional anxious tendencies and clinical anxiety are two different beasts. He couldn’t just treat it the same way he treated his own issues. For starters, whenever he was having an episode, all he wanted was to be held tight and not let go of until all felt right with the world again. But Len? Being touched during a bout of anxiety only aggravated him. Being touched while having an attack, Oliver had been warned, made things even worse. Complete meltdown-level worse.

Luckily, Oliver never had to learn that the hard way. Rin had given him many a crash course on how to properly calm Len down in such a situation, and thanks to her tutelage he had always been able to do so with relative ease.

He’d just… never had to apply it to an actual, severe, full-blown _panic attack._

Downstairs, Rin and Gumi were entangled in some kind of video game tournament. He had half a mind to drag the other Kagamine away and upstairs because she, Oliver knew, had a 100% chance of total success compared to Oliver’s maybe 80%, but—

No. The last thing Len needed was for him to run away.

“Len.” Oliver lowered his voice in volume and pitch to something he hoped sounded soothing. “I want you to do something for me, okay, Len? Blink two times. Really heavy blinks. Can you do that?”

For a moment Len was just as unresponsive as he had been the first time Oliver spoke. Then his eyes closed and his face scrunched up once, twice. When his eyes opened after the second blink, they moved. Not much. But Oliver could see them going to a new spot on the wall, just below where they had been so intensely trained.

“Good!” He caught himself trying to reach out and slapped himself mentally — _don’t you dare, don’t you dare make this worse for him_ — offering more praises in place of the comforting touch he’d nearly attempted. “Good job. Very good. Let’s breathe a little bit now, shall we? I’ll do it with you.”

Slowly, he inhaled through his nose until his lungs burned — _one, two, three, four_ — held it, and then let it back out through his lips. _One, two, three, four._

When Len joined in, his breaths were much less rhythmic. _Gasp, hhuh, gasp-gasp, fwoo, huuua, fwooooo,_ until finally he managed to more or less match Oliver’s pace. As he breathed, Oliver watched. Len loosened his grip on his knees so that his chest had enough room to expand and contract. His eyes began to move a little more; he would blink, then focus his eyes on a different fleck of paint on the wall. Blink, focus. Blink, focus, blink.

His tears slowed until they stopped almost entirely, pooling at his lower eyelids rather than falling down his cheeks. He wasn’t shaking nearly as much anymore.

“Very good,” Oliver repeated. “Now, take your time with this one. Keep on breathing, and while you do that, I want you to wiggle your toes. Just start with your big toe if you need to. Doesn’t matter which one.”

The delay wasn’t quite as extended this time.

Time dragged on. Oliver led Len through all of the mundane exercises Rin had taught him, re-establishing his awareness of his body, bringing him back to his senses. By the end of the list, Len had let go of his knees, focusing on moving his fingers at his sides. He was still leaned forward, but he’d managed to untense himself enough to rest his spine against the bed frame.

The tears were gone and his nose had stopped running, but he still looked like a mess. Oliver couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Do you want some tissues to wipe your face off?”

Len nodded. The movement of his head was slow, but there was no hesitation in his action. He was back.

Oliver waited patiently at his side as he wiped his face and blew his nose, taking the tissues once he was done and returning when they were disposed of. For a few moments more he watched as Len gathered his bearings.

He’d done it. Oliver had managed successfully to guide Len through a panic attack on his own.

He hadn’t realized just how tense _he_ had been until that realization forced him to relax. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to curl up and pass out for a few hours.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he finally asked once Len’s movements tapered. “What triggered it?”

The question made Len look back at the wall in front of him. He spent a few minutes staring, his lips moving as he thought, but ultimately all he could manage were two words.

“I… I don’t…” He shook his head. Oliver hummed. It wasn’t a very helpful answer, but it was also the first words Len had spoken since the whole ordeal began, so that was really the best he could hope for.

“That’s okay, love. Just take it easy for now. We can talk about it later if you’re up for it.”

Len nodded.

“Are you thirsty?”

_Nod, nod._

Standing, Oliver stretched, trying to loosen his numb limbs. Kneeling for an hour on hardwood floors isn’t particularly comfortable. “I’ll get you some water then. Be right back.”

He hadn’t even taken a full step when Len made a noise, something that sounded like “Um—”. When he looked back, Len had turned his head in Oliver’s direction, eyes on the ground.

His arm was still bent at his side, but his hand was outstretched, reaching.

Oliver smiled and did his best to ignore the twisting pain in his chest. “Do you want me to send Rin up here so you’re not alone while I’m gone?”

A pause.

_Nod, nod, nod._

The game tournament had just ended when he got downstairs, so he felt a lot less bad about dragging her away now.

Rin was on the floor where Oliver had been when he returned with the drink. He couldn’t quite hear what she was whispering to her brother, but he was smiling — a pathetically small smile, almost invisible, but very much _there_ —  and the relief was enough to overpower his curiosity.

She waited until Len had finished his first sip before speaking to Oliver.

“I told him he looks like shit.”

Len huffed, and his smile became more obvious.

~~~

A voice from the kitchen doorway pulled Oliver out of his trance.

“If you guys aren’t married by this time next year, I’m gonna propose to you for him.”

The bluntness of the statement made Oliver choke on his snack bar; once he was done coughing his lungs out, he laughed, facing Rin as she made her way to the fridge. “What brought that on?”

“Gee, I dunno,” she said, scanning the drink shelf as though she planned on picking anything other than orange soda, “maybe the fact that you single-handedly got him through a panic attack? Those things aren’t easy to handle y’know.”

Oliver shrugged. “We made a promise to be there for each other. It’s nothing compared to what he’s done for me.”

“And that.” She tapped her selected orange soda’s top a few times before popping it open. “I don’t know if you _know_ you’re doing it, but you’re keeping him in check. Len’s, like, ridiculously self-sacrificing. He usually doesn’t care what happens to him as long as everyone else is happy. But…”

She took a swig before going on. “He’s gotten a lot better at taking care of himself because he knows you care. He doesn’t want you to see him all broken down. And then when stuff like this happens, he knows you’ve got his back, so he doesn’t try to repress it.”

Oliver didn’t even bother trying to hide his blush. “I mean, he also knows you’ll kick his arse if he lets himself get too run-down.”

“Yeah, that too.” Shutting the refrigerator, Rin turned on her heel, not even looking back as she spoke. “Y‘know, if I hadn’t already trusted you before tonight, I sure as hell would trust you now. Which is convenient, ‘cause he really _does_ wanna spend the rest of his life with you, and you know I’d never let him entertain that kind of notion if I thought he’d wind up getting hurt in the end.”

Then she was gone, leaving Oliver frozen at the counter and wondering just how serious that statement had been.

~~~

“Ollie-kun?”

Oliver abandoned his effort to shut the door quietly when he heard Len’s voice. “Crap, I’m sorry,” he said, padding across the room to the bed. “Were you not asleep? If I knew you were awake I wouldn’t have left.”

From beneath the mound of covers Oliver had piled on him before leaving to get a snack, Len shook his head. “Just woke up.”

He wasn’t fully recovered just yet. His speech was less stilted and drawn out, and his aversion to touch was all but gone, but he still couldn’t look Oliver in the eye. Oliver sat beside him and brushed his bangs away from his face. “Get some more rest, okay? And if you need anything else just tell me.”

”Okay.”

"Excellent." He leaned over to give Len's forehead a kiss. "I love you.”

Staring hard at nothing in particular, Len responded with a different set of words than Oliver was expecting.

“Will you stay?”

Perhaps more startled than he should have been, Oliver chuckled. “Well, I mean, considering this is my room too I was, in fact, planning on staying.”

Len chuckled in turn, and even in the darkness of the room Oliver could see the rush of blood that colored his face. “Yeah.”

Long after Len had fallen asleep again, Oliver lay on his side, watching Len’s chest rise and fall. Rin’s earlier words echoed through his head, fractured bits and pieces that he did his best to string together into a single thought. And eventually, he found the words he needed.

“Of course I’ll stay,” he whispered across the bed. “I’ll stay forever, if you want. Because I, um… I’d like that too.”

Sighing, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to ignore that twisting in his chest and focus on sleep.

If he’d kept his eyes open a few seconds longer, he would have seen Len smile.


	7. Of a Feather

Vocaloids were created for one purpose and one purpose only: to sing. A Vocaloid who couldn’t sing was a Vocaloid stripped of purpose, of meaning, reduced to a mere Oid. No amount of former glory could save a singing android who couldn’t use their most powerful tool, and being functionally immortal meant shame and regret would follow them around for all of time.

In other words, Oliver had lost his voice during choir practice and was on the verge of a breakdown because of it.

“Oh God, we’re heading back out,” he whimpered. “I can’t go back out there. I can’t do it. Len, I can’t— I can’t—”

“It’s gonna be okay! Just… take a couple deep breaths, okay, hun?” Len took a breath of his own when he heard Oliver following his suggestion. He at least sounded calmer than he did when he’d rang ten minutes earlier. “You’ve got this. Practice will be over in an hour and when you get home, Gakkun can give you a checkup. You might just be catching a cold or something.”

Oliver took a few more breaths before responding. “Fair enough,” he whispered, and Len could tell he still wasn’t exactly reassured. He muttered a farewell and the line went dead before Len had time to return it.

He stared at the  _ Call Ended  _ screen for a moment longer, then he pocketed his phone and rubbed at his temples. As much ground as Oliver had made with his mental health over the years, he was still fairly volatile. If something uncomfortable or embarrassing happened (like, say, losing his voice while singing), he’d shut down and transform into a ball of blankets and self-loathing for anywhere from a few hours to a week.

Immediate action was needed to ensure that didn’t happen. Len could easily take such action on his own. But why not go all-out, just to be safe?

And he knew just the guy to help him with this job.

~~~ 

Normally, James spent his days luxuriating in the garden, perching on branches and pecking at berries and seeds and bathing in the shoddy birdbath the household had built for him. He was not, however, a fan of cold weather. So every winter, the free room between Rin’s room and Oliver and Len’s room was turned into James’ Winter Palace. The door was always left open in case he wished to flit about the house, but this was still the best place to start. 

Every corner of the room was filled with little canopies and perches and nests for him to use as he pleased. Their colors caught Len’s eye when he entered the room, but he couldn’t spot any movement.

He whistled.

A tent-shaped canopy hung in the upper-right-hand corner of the room, stuffed with thistles. From the hole of the tent, a brownish-yellow head popped out.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” Len said. “But it’s kind of an emergency. Oliver’s having a bad day.” He held out his left arm, fingers loosely extended. “And we’re gonna go make it better.”

Beady black eyes looked back at him. James tilted his head. Then he untangled himself from his nest, pushed off from the canopy’s opening, flapped his wings, and lighted on Len’s index finger. Once he’d gotten his footing, Len brought his hand to his shoulder; James promptly hopped on, shaking out his feathers to signal that he was ready.

Len gave a firm nod of his head in return. “Let’s do this.”

~~~

Bringing James into town wasn’t really an uncommon occurrence, but getting him inside could be a fairly difficult task. In the summer, his feathers were bright yellow, almost exactly the same shade as Len’s hair, and so it was a little difficult to sneak him into public places. (Len would sometimes wear his hair down so James could hide in it, but thin as his hair was, it didn’t do much to conceal the black tail feathers that poked out.)

His winter feathers were much more dulled, and the cold made him much less likely to bounce around and draw attention to himself. He could easily ride around in a coat pocket with no one any wiser.

For now, he still sat perched on Len’s shoulder, twittering every few minutes when something caught his eye or when he just had something he wanted to say. Every so often, Len whistled back. He was getting better at this whole communication thing. It took months of study and observation, but he had finally picked up on the nuances of James’ vocalizations and learned the correct responses.

At least that was what he wanted to believe. Oliver hadn’t made fun of his communication attempts in a while, so Len took that as a sign that he’d become an official James Whisperer.

The walk to the auditorium where the local choirs practiced was on the other side of town, and the stretch of street they walked was lined with little shops and restaurants all the way there. If they didn’t stop, they would get there fifteen minutes early.

If they  _ did _ stop, they might cut it close, but maybe they could brighten Oliver’s day that much more.

“Keep your eyes sharp,” Len said, doing the same himself. “I was thinking we could pick up his favorite from Futsayo, but it would be better if we all went after we pick him up and had dinner together, don’t’cha think? He needs some time to unwind before we get home. But if possible I don’t wanna show up empty-handed. But it’s on such short notice I don’t even know what I could…”

James’ wings smacked against his face, quickly shutting him up.

He was too small to inflict any damage, but Len still rubbed his cheek, looking over in the direction James had flown off to.

James was sitting on the sill of a shop window, the window itself adorned with brightly-painted flowers.

Of course! Len caught up and peered into the window. He’d been inside this modest little flower shop a few times before. Their anniversary was in late summer, which coincided with the blooming season of Oliver’s favorite flowers. Ah, he could see his face now: sad and despondent from his practice, only to perk up upon realizing that Len held a bouquet of brightly-colored ranunculi. It was perfect.

But…

Len shook his head. “James, I’m not sure this is the best idea,” he sighed, stuffing his numb hands back into his pockets. “I mean, it’s the middle of winter. His favorites went out of bloom months ago.”

When he looked down, James was looking right back at him. Then he turned back to the window.

_ Tap tap tap. _ Three quick taps with his beak against the window.

“James. They won’t have his favorites.”

_ Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap. _

“Those are literally the only flowers he likes! They won’t have them in stock!”

_ Tap tap  _ **_tap tap tap TAP TAP TAP TAP—_ **

“Okay,  _ okay! _ ” Len couldn’t help but laugh as he scooped James up and opened his coat pocket for him. “Let’s not break the window, okay, bud?”

James twittered happily as Len pushed the shop’s door open. Maybe he had a point. Oliver only had one favorite, but he didn’t actually dislike other flowers. A colorful bouquet of  _ anything _ on this dreary, cold day was bound to cheer him up.

~~~

**_LATE BLOOMERS_ **

**_Hibiscus, ranunculi, platycodon_ **

**_¥300 per stem, ¥3000 per dozen_ **

And sitting amongst the display, just as the sign promised, was a vase stuffed with yellow, pink, and white ranunculi.

From Len’s coat pocket, James whistled.

“Yeah, yeah,” Len muttered, already at work picking out the fullest flowers, “you  _ did _ tell me. No need to rub it in.”

For someone who couldn’t even talk, that bird had quite the mouth on him.

~~~

They arrived at the auditorium building just as a stream of teenagers poured out of the entrance. Len hung back, leaning against the brick exterior, watching the crowd carefully. Oliver could be hard to pick out from crowds. He was short and often walked with his head down, making it easy for him to blend in.

But Oliver wasn’t in the initial crowd. Everyone cleared out, and not once did Len spot the blue knit cap he’d had on that morning or the fluffy flaxen hair that puffed out from beneath it.

Five minutes passed.

Len pulled out his phone. Had he fled early? Was he already on the way home, shuffling through the streets in a bid to hide beneath the covers for the rest of the day?

No messages showed up when he turned the phone on.

He was halfway through a  _ Where Are You _ text when James chirped loudly into his ear.

Sure enough, there he was. He looked up at the same time Len did, and wow, he did  _ not  _ look his best, the poor thing. His cap was pulled all the way over his ears and his jacket was pulled up to his nose and his eye looked puffy and dark. So, throwing his phone back into his pocket, Len held the fresh bouquet of Oliver’s favorites out to him.

On his shoulder, Len could feel James expand his wings, almost as if he was waving hello.

Just before Oliver broke into a run, the brightest open-mouthed smile spread across his face.

Mission successful.

~~~

“Told you it’s just a cold. Nothing to worry about, see?”

Rather than acknowledge Len’s words, Oliver scratched beneath James’ chin. The goldfinch closed his eyes and leaned into the attention and puffed out his feathers in satisfaction. Oliver, with a vase of his favorite flowers in his and Len’s room and a belly full of his favorite foods and a system full of cold syrup, giggled.

There would be no ball of blankets and self-loathing tonight. Len couldn’t have asked for a better outcome.

Oliver yawned suddenly. “Gah. Stupid medicine.”

“Ready to get to bed?”

“I need a shower first.” Gently, he held his hand out, transferring James over to Len’s finger. “Are you planning on joining?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna get James situated first.”

“I’ll make sure the water’s nice and hot for you then.” Oliver pressed a kiss to James’ tiny forehead, giving an exaggerated  _ mmmmwah! _ to go with it. “Sleep well, James. Thank you for being here for me today!”

James chirped back.

Once Oliver was comfortably out of sight, Len urged James onto his feeding perch so that he could rummage through the various bags of feed hidden in the closet. He came back out with a large scoop of The Good and Expensive and Probably Unhealthy In Large Quantities Seed.

“Our little secret,” he said, pouring it into the dish attached to the perch. James hopped back and forth impatiently as he emptied the cup. “For being the best boy in the entire world.”

Once the cup was empty, he thanked Len in his own little language and dove right in.

With the tips of his index and middle fingers, Len stroked his back. “Today wouldn’t have gone nearly as well without your help, y’know. Thank you.”

He could have sworn James was purring.

This bird, he’d thought more than once, couldn’t be just a bird. Surely he was part-cat, part-dog, part-human, small and bird-shaped and covered in feathers. How else would he be so aware? He had a sixth sense made specifically for finding ways to make Oliver happy, it seemed, an internal dowsing rod that led him to the right places at the right times.

It would always mystify Len. But he learned to stop asking questions long ago.

He kissed the same spot on his head Oliver had kissed just minutes earlier, a wordless good-night. “Never stop looking out for him, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Roger Waters voice* Is there anybody out there?
> 
> Seriously. It's lonely on this lonely rowboat. If you like the fic, please leave a comment! Leave two comments! Leave a comment on every chapter! Okay, just one is fine (though I wouldn't object to one on every chapter, I'll confess). I love getting feedback. Tell me what you like, what you'd wanna see, what you might want me to change. It's y'all that help me grow as a writer, and I wanna keep growing.
> 
> Nevertheless, if you're reading this, you're awesome and I love you!


	8. How to Say "I Love You" in Japanese

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've mentioned it in one of my E-rated fics, but I wanna reiterate it here: Oliver and Len (along with Rin and Miku) are aged up in my fics. I'm not writing suggestive material between prepubescent characters. They're both late-teens in all of my materials, no exceptions.
> 
> I got called a pedophile and had to remove one of my YouTube videos over this, so please be aware that that's not the case in my works.
> 
> Anyway, with that out of the way, this chapter's a little longer, I think. I hope y'all enjoy!

Oliver spent a year learning Japanese prior to moving to Japan. Every morning for just over twelve months, he connected with one Megurine Luka over video chat and immersed himself in a language far removed from the corner of the world in which he lived.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as he had been anticipating, really. The kana were easy to learn and the pronunciation system was straightforward and simple.

Learning the two-thousand-odd kanji the Japanese used in day-to-day life? Now _that_ was the hard part. He’d only learned about three-hundred before his move, and even now he hadn’t learned much more than half of them. He knew the words and how to write them in kana, but where the formal kanji was needed, he relied on his phone to transcribe them for him.

Thankfully, Luka had been a patient teacher. From the start, she encouraged him to ease into the language at his own pace, swap English words with the words he’d learned, make simple, slow sentences stating the mundane.

_“Ohayou gozaimasu, Megurine-sensei. Kyou wa getsuyoubi, go-gatsu hatsuka desu. Kyou no tenki wa… Um… sunny? Sunshine?”_

_“Hare desu.”_

_“Hare desu. Kyou no tenki wa hare desu.”_

_“Yokatta, Oriba!”_

He’d often read, however, that no amount of lessons could prepare a person for total language immersion. And that was correct. Oh _man,_ that was correct. He couldn’t understand half of what was said at his own welcoming party, and for over a month, everyone in the Kyokotta household spoke to him in a mixture of heavily-accented, broken-up English and slow, deliberate, simplified Japanese.

Still, lacking the luxury of falling back on his native tongue with anyone but Luka, he picked up the language that much faster. Within his first few months, he was perfectly conversational, and by the end of his first year in Japan he considered himself comfortably fluent.

But here’s the funny thing about language: it’s an ever-evolving beast. Every language on Earth has its own subsets of languages. Public language, formal language, friendly language, familial language, even lovers’ language.

Oliver thought he had all of them down pretty well. But it was only when he and Len started dating that he began to learn the Japanese language of love.

~~~

 _Suki._ “I like you.” _Daisuki._ “I like you a lot.” _Aishiteru._ “I love you.” He’d learned all of those words over video chat with Luka while still in England. He assumed they were used the same way those words were used in English. So he was a little confused when Len never uttered a _suki_ one in the first month of their relationship, barring their initial exchange of confessions.

Near the beginning of Month Two, Len took his hands and looked him in the eye, face red, determination written across his features.

“ _Hayasuginai to iinda, kore wa,_ ” he started out, lowering his eyes to their hands. Oliver’s heart skipped. Too soon? Too soon for what? Was Len about to drop the _ai_ -word?

Len took a deep breath, then looked back into his eye.

“ _Oriba, daisuki._ ”

...That was it?

“ _Mo daisuki, Ren._ ” _Why would I be dating you if I didn’t “really like” you back?_

Still, Len’s face lit up like the Northern Lights, and he laughed and pulled Oliver into a hug and repeated a few more _daisuki_ s against his lips, so Oliver was content for the time being. Len had always been an actions-over-words type of person. Maybe that was why uttering such an obvious statement had been so nerve-wracking for him, Oliver reasoned.

After that,  _suki_ became a regular word passed between the two. It was nice and all, but still, it felt strange to Oliver. Who says “I like you!” to their boyfriend as he heads out the door for the day?

Luka winced when he finally asked her about it.

“I guess that would have been helpful to explain," she said apologetically. "See, words like ‘love’ aren’t used quite as freely in our language as they are in English. Love is something that’s taken much more seriously here than in many Western countries. It’s rare and sacred and not to be taken lightly. In that respect, I'm a little surprised he used the word he used so soon.”

Oliver frowned down at his lap. “So _aishiteru_ is one of those words that just… isn’t used?”

“No, it’s used.” Luka shrugged. “Just not often. It’s usually said on wedding days, maybe anniversaries. Sometimes when one lover dies and the other needs to properly express grief.”

Well, _that_ was comforting.

“In English-speaking societies,” she continued, “love almost _has_ to be expressed in words. Here, you have to look closer. You have to pay attention rather than give empty promises. And honestly, I feel like that kind of love is even stronger.”

So that was what Oliver did. He began to pay attention.

~~~

It was subtle at first, little gestures that he was familiar with but hadn’t really thought about.

Len spoke loudly and boisterously and used rather crass language when expressing strong opinions, a trait he shared with Rin and Meiko and Gumi. But when it was just them, his voice would soften. He’d enunciate his vowels more, draw out the ends of his words. He still used harsh words, but not quite as harsh and not quite as often. Oliver wasn’t sure why, but it made him feel… special. Len only spoke like that for him. No one else but him.

When they lounged together on the couch in the living room or a bench in the park, Len would sit as close to him as decency would allow, wrap an arm around his shoulders, link their arms if the former option was unavailable. When they had lunch at Oliver's favorite cafe or went on a fancy dinner date, he made sure their feet touched under the table; if both hands weren't required for eating, he'd lay his hand palm-up on the table's surface, give Oliver's hand a squeeze when he laid it in his grasp. 

When they walked around town, on a date or running an errand or just trying to find something to do, Len would take his hand. At first, they’d walk palm-in-palm, fingers cupped; as the day went on, Len’s fingers would find and fill the spaces between his. By Month Four, he skipped the formalities and laced their fingers together as soon as their hands touched.

There was a word for finger-laced hand-holding, Oliver came to discover. _Koibitotsunagi._ Lovers’ bond.

For some reason, that little bit of knowledge made him love holding Len’s hand that much more.

~~~

Len, being tied for second-most famous Vocaloid in the household (tied with Rin and second behind Miku, of course), often had to leave early for recording sessions and photo shoots and whatnot. Since Oliver was a late sleeper, he didn't always get to see Len off. So on those days, Oliver would always find a note stuck to his door. The notes were at first random wishes for a good day or a reminder to do laundry or get something for James if he had time to run to town.

One morning, the note was in English. The letters were large and steady, the Os looped so tall and thin that they looked more like zeros.

 _0liver, d0 y0u want t0 have a date t0night? I will leave studi0 at 18:00. text me if yes! have a g00d day_ _❤_

Oliver was quick to text his response in kind.

 

O: Yes, I would love to go on a date tonight!

L: メモわかった？

O: はい, もちろん

L: すごおおおおおおおおい!!!

 

From that day on, the notes on Oliver’s door were in English more often than not. The phrases were either oddly worded or clearly taken from a “Cute Things to Tell Your English-Speaking Partner” website, but Oliver cherished each one just the same.

~~~

Each night before they departed for their own rooms, Len would give Oliver a kiss. Some nights, it was little more than a quick peck on the lips. Other nights it turned into more: several small kisses exchanged between chuckles and goodnights. On those nights, Len would hold Oliver by the waist, keep his hold firm until it was time to part. Then when he let go, he did so slowly, almost reluctantly.

On one such night, Oliver decided to push the boundaries a bit.

When Len let go, Oliver drew him back in, pressed their lips together, held his head so he couldn’t readily break away. This kiss was much longer than any they’d shared before, yet Len didn’t move for the entirety of it.

Worried he’d taken a step too far, Oliver broke it off and swallowed a nervous gulp of air. No sooner did the oxygen reach his lungs than did Len cup his face in his hands, kissing him deeply, slowly. By the time they broke off, Oliver was delightfully lightheaded.

“... _Konban issho ni ite ka?_ ” The request was whispered against his cheek. “ _Hi... hitoride kirai._ ”

They sat in Oliver’s bed for a while, talking about nothing important, until Len began to doze off. Oliver pulled back the covers and slid beneath them and ushered Len to do the same. Just before he succumbed to his tiredness, Len sought out Oliver’s hand, smiled when Oliver laced their fingers together.

They didn’t really _mean_ to move in together, but the arrangement was far too pleasant to only do once, and before they knew it Len automatically followed Oliver into his room each night. Their seven-month anniversary was spent dragging down one of the king-sized beds from upstairs and reorganizing the dresser and counters to make room for the rest of Len’s belongings.

~~~

Their relationship progressed to a point that many relationships progress to one night during Month Ten, and so Oliver’s mind was a little too hazy to register it when he heard it.

“ _Aishiteru,_ ” Len whispered against his neck as he caught his breath. The tickle of his breath against Oliver’s cooling skin made him shudder, so he curled up against him even more, not allowing for a single inch of space between them.

“ _Mo aishiteru,_ ” he muttered back, as though he’d said it a hundred times before. They snuggled together in their own little cloud of bliss for God-knew-how-long, listening to each other’s breathing and drifting in and out of consciousness.

It wasn’t until an hour or two later, when they finally dragged themselves out of bed to clean up and wash off, that Oliver realized it. It hit him like a train, overtaking his whole body with such a powerful shock that, were he not already sitting, would have knocked him off of his feet.

“ _Kimi no kao ga aki._ ” Len’s fingers pulled away from his hair as he spoke, leaving Oliver sitting on the shower stool with a head full of suds. “ _Daijoubu?_ ”

Oliver shifted on the stool to look at Len, who was watching him while reaching for the shower head. His face was pretty red, too, full of a tender vulnerability that Oliver was no stranger to.

_Aishiteru._

He had half a mind to ask Len to say it again.

But he already had. He’d said it every day since the day they got together. He said it in the notes he still left on the bedside table, the touch of his hand in Oliver’s, the way he spoke and softened around Oliver and Oliver alone. Oliver didn’t need a word to know how Len felt.

“ _Daijoubu desu,_ ” he confirmed, facing forward again as Len turned the water back on and began to rinse his hair. His jaw ached with the smile that split his face. “ _Honto ni shiawase._ ”

With the suds gone, Len leaned Oliver’s head back and kissed the skin where his forehead and hairline met. “ _Boku mo shiawase._ ”

Oliver stood to swap places and wash Len’s hair, but before Len sat, he pulled Oliver into an embrace and kissed his cheek.

“ _Honto ni aishiteru,_ ” he said into Oliver’s ear, as though he were imparting a precious secret. “ _Honto, honto ni aishiteru._ ”

Oliver melted into him at the words, laughing and kissing him and forgetting that they still needed to finish washing off.

He didn’t need to hear the word to be certain of Len’s feelings. But... hearing it was still pretty nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese lesson time!
> 
>  _Kyou wa getsuyoubi, go-gatsu hatsuka desu. Kyou no tenki wa hare desu._  
>  Today is Monday, May 20th. The weather is sunny today.
> 
>  _Hayasuginai to iinda, kore wa._  
>  I hope this isn't too soon.
> 
> Oliver and Len's text conversation:  
>  _Memo wakatta?_ (You understood the note?)  
>  _Hai, mochiron_ (Yes, of course)  
>  _Sugoooooooooi!_ (Awesoooooooome!)
> 
>  _Konban issho ni ite ka? Hitoride kirai._  
>  Will you stay with me tonight? I don't like being alone.
> 
>  _Kimi no kao ga aki. Daijoubu?_  
>  Your face is red. Are you okay?
> 
>  _Honto ni shiawase._  
>  I'm really happy.
> 
> ("Oriba" is just "Oliver" in Japanese, but I figured that one was more obvious.)


	9. Dinner and a Movie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're takin' it back a little to the Pre-Relationship era! Let's get started, shall we?

“So…” Oliver tapped his fingers against the table as he searched for his words, translating the Japanese into English and then regurgitating them in his own simplified Japanese. “Valentine’s Day is… without males? It’s a girl’s holiday? And the boy’s holiday is this day in March?”

“Yup!” Len confirmed. “Girls give presents to guys on Valentine’s Day, and we return the favor on White Day.”

Oliver _ooh_ ed. “That’s interesting. I’ve never heard of a holiday like that.”

“It’s more convenient that way too,” Gakupo said. “Rather than giving gifts blindly in the futile hope that someone remembered you, you don’t have to waste your time and money and energy. You know up-front that you’ve been forgotten, and that ultimately spares you further heartache.”

Kaito set his beer down, the look he sent Gakupo’s way filled with shock and concern. “You okay, man? Wanna talk about it?”

Gakupo gave a forlorn sigh and took a lethargic bite from a mozzarella stick.

February 13th. Every year, on this very day, all males were exiled from the house from 18:00 to 23:00 while the girls whipped up chocolates for them (and for each other). And so for five hours, Gakupo, Kaito, and Len would wander Kyokotta, grab something to eat, hit up an arcade, just have a fun-packed guy’s night.

When Len informed Oliver of the tradition and extended a formal invitation to join, Oliver was hesitant. He wasn’t one for a night on the town, or, well… socialization in general. In the month Len had known him, he’d spoken enough to fill a page or two of a children’s picture book, looked Len in the eye exactly twice, and never longer than half a second. Len had expected such a reaction to the T.

What he hadn’t expected was for him to accept the invitation anyway.

While they hadn’t known each other for long, and while Oliver rarely spoke unless spoken to, Len had still learned a thing or two about him. For example, though he was shy, Oliver didn’t like being alone. He would never ask to be included in plans. But when Len and Rin invited him out, he’d readily accept. He’d hang back for the most part, but he’d always thank them for letting him tag along.

Oliver, he’d figured out, really wanted to be everyone’s friend. He just didn’t know how.

But he didn’t handle the thought of excitement very well. Len wasn’t sure if it was a social issue or a sensitivity issue or if he was just afraid to let loose in front of people he still didn’t know as well as he wanted.

So Len quickly consulted with the other two to alter their plans. Ultimately, they decided on something more subdued than usual: a casual dinner, then a movie, then a few stops at some local shops on the way home. Perfect for the shy and skittish Oliver.

As of the appetizer course, Oliver had yet to look up from his hands, which he wrung on the table. But he nodded when someone was telling a story, and he grinned when something funny was said, and he was actually _talking_ , so Len hoped that meant he was having a good time.

“Don’t feel so sad,” Oliver said, briefly glancing to Gakupo then looking back down just as quickly. “You’re kind. Anyone could get lucky with you.”

Gakupo blinked and Kaito winced at the exact same moment that Len looked their way.

“He’s right!” Len chimed in before they could point out the error. Knowing that he had just implied that Gakupo was easy would only ensure Oliver never spoke again. “Anyone would _be_ lucky _to be_ with you.” He stressed the important words so that Oliver could hear them and glared across the table as he did so, a silent _Don’t you dare tell him what he just said_.

Luckily, Gakupo’s face had softened, and Kaito simply hid his laughter behind his beer.

“That means a lot to me, Ollie-dono. Thank you.”

Len glanced to his right.

He’d never seen Oliver smile so radiently.

~~~

With dinner under their belts (and in their stomachs), the quad made their way to the theater and left the task of grabbing snacks to the teens. The adults went on ahead to save seats. Oliver accidentally walked in front of Len, and so the snack bar attendant addressed him first.

“What will you have?”

Oliver turned around, looking to Len as if for approval.

“You can go ahead,” he said, taking the chance to check his phone. “I’ll get the rest. Don’t worry about it.”

He didn’t realize anything was wrong until he heard the attendant again.

“What will you have?” she repeated to Oliver. Her voice was laced with strained patience.

Len looked up from his phone.

Oliver was silent. He stood still. Deathly still.

Len wasn’t sure what happened. He didn’t even think about it. But he knew he had to help. He pocketed his phone and took Oliver’s shoulders and guided him away from the counter and the pushy woman, into a nearby corner.

“You okay?” He turned Oliver around so that they were face-to-face. “You froze up. Could you not decide?”

For a moment, Oliver’s face was blank. Then his eye welled up with tears.

“I… I…” He sniffed. “I forgot… I forgot what to say… I forgot the word and-and there wasn’t a sign I could read or anything I could point to—”

It overcame Len again, that tugging feeling in his limbs, telling him to stop standing there and _do something_.

He pulled Oliver against his chest and wrapped his arms around him.

 _Bad idea bad idea_ **_bad idea,_ ** his head screamed at him. Someone as fearful as Oliver surely hated to be touched. And here Len had gone and jumped right in with full-body contact and good frickin’ job Len, ya just made it worse.

Oliver lifted his arms.

Rather than push Len away, he hugged him back.

A shock rushed through Len, making him feel all at once burning hot and icy cold.

“It’s humiliating,” Oliver whimpered into his shoulder. “I move to another country and I can’t even speak the language well. I-I really am worthless, aren’t I?”

The hold he had on Len was loose, as if he was scared to embrace him too tightly, but he was warm. His breath was heavy from trying to hold in his tears and the feeling of him in Len’s arms was… comfortable. His words were so sad, so miserable, but filled with the same kind warmth that radiated from his being.

So Len held him tighter.

“You’re not worthless,” he promised. “You’ve only studied Japanese for, what, like a year? Languages are hard! You've heard my English, right?”

Oliver shook his head. "Your English isn't bad."

"Yeah? It's not bad when I rehearse what I'm gonna say. But how about  _this_ _?_ "

Len’s English was genuinely bad, sure, but he knew several words and a few phrases which he used when on tour in America. But Oliver needed a smile now more than ever, so he recited a basic greeting and went out of his way to absolutely blow it.

Oliver coughed. Then he laughed.

That was the first time Len had ever heard him laugh.

“No. There’s no way. That was _comically_ bad.”

“Okay, okay, there might have been a slight exaggeration, but I promise it’s almost that bad for real. So the fact that we’re even talking like this when you’ve only been learning the language for a year just proves how kickass you are.”

Once more, Oliver sniffed, then he let Len go. Out of courtesy, Len did the same.

He felt uncomfortably cold all of a sudden.

Oliver wiped his eye with his sleeve. “Um… w-would you mind if I, um, went ahead and… I-I don’t want to face that woman again.”

Forcing himself out of his fog, Len backed up, adopting as casual a stance as he could manage. “Yeah, sure! I’ll go ahead and get you something. Do you remember the word for what you wanted?”

A pause.

“P… popcorn.” He ducked his head, but Len could still see the flush that spread across his face. “It’s the same word in Japanese and English. I’m an idiot.”

Len gave another reassurance as he walked away, a spring his step.

He’d made Oliver laugh.

He had such a nice laugh.

~~~

Poking around in the stores proved uneventful. Oliver made a cheap purchase, but other than that, nothing sparked anyone’s fancy. But it was already nearing 23:00, so they decided to call it a night and head home.

Len’s room was just to the left of Oliver’s, so he struck up some small talk about the movie they’d seen as they went upstairs, small talk that turned into a full-fledged conversation that kept them outside of their rooms for a good twenty minutes.

In the month he’d known Oliver, Len had never heard him speak as much as he had that night. His voice was soft and gentle, joyful, even.

Eventually, Oliver yawned and blinked heavily, and so Len reluctantly steered the conversation to a close.

“We get to sleep in tomorrow,” he said. “Then we all go downstairs and the girls make a big show about giving us chocolates and it’s a ton of fun. But I’ll stop talking your ear off and let you get to bed.”

But before he could bid him goodnight, Oliver stopped him. He muttered a “Wait a minute”, reached into the bag he’d carried from the store, took a step back, and bowed fully at the waist, arms extended forward, his purchase in his hands.

The purchase? Apparently, a heart-shaped box of chocolates.

Which he was offering to Len.

What.

_What._

**_What._ **

“Valentine’s Day is a day to give presents to important boys in one’s life,” he started, his words carefully rehearsed. “It’s not until tomorrow, I know, but since men don’t give presents on Valentine’s Day, I thought it would be more fitting to give this to you now.”

All too many thoughts sprinted through Len’s mind, his feet glued to the ground. What was happening? What did he mean? Important boy? Context? _What was the context?_

“I, um… I hope this isn’t inappropriate,” Oliver continued when Len didn’t immediately take the box. “I-I know it’s heart-shaped and all, but I didn’t even think about that until I’d already bought it. I just thought, I mean, it looked high-quality so I…”

Slowly, Len’s senses came back to him. Okay. An innocent explanation. That was good. That was good.

“I-it’s not inappropriate at all!” He took the box, glancing it over. The image on the front certainly looked enticing. He’d never had that brand before.

Oliver straightened himself.

He looked up. Right into Len’s eyes.

And he held that eye contact. One, two, three—

“Anyway.” Oliver smiled and looked back down at the floor. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I, um… I want to continue to get close to you. G-goodnight.”

And then he was gone.

~~~

Len wasn’t naïve. He wasn’t one to lay in bed on a sleepless night, hand on his chest, pondering the thumping of his maiden heart and what it might mean.

No, Len was perfectly aware that he had a crush on Oliver.

He flipped onto his stomach and groaned into his pillow.

 _Get a_ grip _, will you? You’ve known the guy for like a month. ~~Which is longer than most people you’ve liked before.~~ Chocolates aren't inherently romantic. And heart-shaped boxes are all that's available this time of year.  ~~Though he could've just gotten you a candy bar or a stuffed animal or something.~~ Plus, White Day isn't a thing in England. Of course he'd hand out gifts today.  ~~Ignoring the fact that you explained the whole concept of White Day to him and he~~_ ~~still _got them for you today._~~   _Besides, you don't even know if he's into guys. ~~But have you ever met a Vocaloid that's completely straight?~~  _

He flipped onto his back again and stared hard at the ceiling, as though the paint would somehow give him answers.

There was a spot where the paint had dried unevenly, making an abstract shape. A shape that kinda looked like a certain boy in a sailor's cap.

"Oh my  _God,_ I  _get it!_ " Frustration compelled Len to launch his pillow at the offending paint spot. "Can't I get a present from someone without going all gaga for them?! Just give me that much!"

But he wouldn’t get that much. He never did.

His night was spent muttering curses to the heavens and scrolling through his Instagram feed until he fell into a discontented sleep.

~~~

Luka’s chocolates were always heavenly. Miku’s were nothing to sniff at. Rin’s were usually hit-or-miss, Meiko’s could knock a hardened alcoholic off of his feet, and nine times out of ten, Gumi’s contained some ingredient that did not belong anywhere _near_ chocolate.

By the time his head hit his pillow on the night of the 14th, Len had had enough chocolate to last him for a while.

Until a flash of red caught his eye.

The box of chocolates. His gift from Oliver. He’d thrown it on his writing desk the night before and did his best to forget about it, somehow convincing himself that forgetting its existence would mean forgetting his newfound feelings towards its gifter.

What would one piece hurt?

Len took a bite, and almost immediately, it melted on his tongue. It was easily the most delicious store-bought chocolate he’d ever tasted.

He had one piece, then another, then another, until the whole box was empty.

So he liked Oliver.

His heart sped, but he didn't bother trying to ignore it.

Yeah. He liked Oliver.

What would a little crush hurt?


	10. First of Firsts

The water was still running in the bathroom when Len slipped back into his and Oliver’s room. Good. He had taken advantage of the free bathroom one door over and rushed through a shower of his own to make sure he’d have plenty of time to set up. The more he could do to ensure Oliver was comfortable, the better.

It was 22:23 when he set to work. He smoothed out the bedding, fluffed the pillows, switched the lamp on and the overhead light off. Rearranged the pillows. Re-smoothed the comforter. Stepped back to admire his work, then glanced at the clock again.

22:25.

The shower was still running.

Len pursed his lips. Surely there was something else he could do. Maybe he could rummage through the junk room, find some candles to light.

_Maybe you should cover the bed in rose petals and pose naked with a saxophone while you’re at it, you cliché-loving dweeb._

No better idea had presented itself when he heard the bathroom door click open.

In the doorway stood Oliver, dressed in a loose T-shirt and pajama pants, droplets of water still hanging from the ends of his hair and making wet patches on his shirt and his facial bandages as they fell. As for Oliver himself, he was unnervingly motionless, like he’d stared into the face of Medusa herself. Len was sure he looked the same.

Right. This was happening.

Len’s mind said, _Say something witty to ease the tension._

His mouth said, “Uh, hhh _hhhhh_ ey, um-uh… hey”.

His mind said, _You're a fucking idiot._

“H-hey,” Oliver said back.

The silence that ensued was so thick, Len could have stripped off his clothes and swam in it if he was so inclined.

Finally, Oliver cleared his throat.

“You can, um… go ahead and sit. If you want.”

Lacking much else to do, Len complied. Once he was situated on his usual side of the bed, cross-legged and face turned down, Oliver joined him, occupying his usual side as well.

“So,” he said, eyes trained on the navy-blue comforter.

“...So,” Len agreed.

This was getting them nowhere.

What could he do to make it less… awkward? Len mulled his options over. Should he take the approach of acknowledging how unfamiliar and slightly terrifying this all was, just getting it out in the open so they could be honest with each other? Should he do what the confident-type characters always did in the movies: scoop Oliver into his arms, kiss him passionately, let themselves be wordlessly consumed with bliss?

The former, he feared, would only make Oliver more uncomfortable, and the latter he _knew_ would make him uncomfortable. That was the last thing Len wanted. But he wasn’t sure what to do. This was a new experience for him, too.

He wasn’t used to not knowing what to do. It frustrated him to no end.

Unable to find a better option, he prepared to take Approach #1, and the words were already forming on his tongue when Oliver’s voice stopped him.

“T-there’s something that I… um…” He wrung his hands together and his fingers fidgeted endlessly, but even through their movements, Len could tell his hands were shaking. So he shifted to where he was facing Oliver and waited patiently for him to find the words he needed.

“Before we— you know, um, get started, I… There’s something I… want to, um... show you.” The words were quiet, more a breath than a sound. “If you’re okay with it?”

Once he’d spoken, he hugged his arms as though a sudden chill had overtaken him. He didn’t look at Len directly; he turned his head and peeked up through his lashes, tucking his chin into his chest and pulling his shoulders as close to his ears as they could go. His nails dug deeply into his skin, threatening to draw blood if he tensed up even the slightest bit more.

Len hadn’t seen him look so scared since… well, no, he’d never seen him this scared.

Yet somewhere behind that fear laid something else. In his honey-golden eye was a plea. A plea for what? Len wanted to reach out and offer him solace, but would that make it worse or better?

Unsure, he simply nodded. “Of course, yeah.”

Oliver whispered a shaky “Okay” in return. He let go of his arms, inhaled deeply, closed his eye, reached behind his head, and… began to unwind his bandages.

Len barely caught himself before he gasped.

Was this happening? Was this really, honest-to-God happening?

Oliver placed the unwound bandages on his lap and stared down at them, as though he couldn’t believe what was happening, either. He took another breath. Tucked his hair behind his ear. Faced Len. Looked up.

Len felt for all the world that a road roller had just been driven over his chest.

Patches of skin, stretching from the base of Oliver’s ear and up to his forehead, were bright red, as though they had been burned and never quite healed. Where his left eye should have been, there was nothing. Only a pair of eyelids sewn tightly shut to make one long, nasty-looking scar.

“ _Whoa._ ” Len couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t say much else.

His fingers and toes turned icy the moment Oliver winced and looked back at his lap. “Heh, yeah, I-I know, it’s pretty bad, isn’t—”

“No!” Oliver flinched again, so Len quickly rambled on, praying his words weren’t just making it worse. “I think it’s cool!”

At those words, Oliver looked up again, blinking in confusion. Len stared back in earnest.

No one had ever seen his face in whole. Not even Len.

When they’d first started dating, Oliver had suggested showing him as part of their promise to be open with one another. He’d tried to hide it, but it was clear the thought terrified him. So Len had promised that it didn’t matter. _“Whatever’s under those bandages, and whether or not I ever see it, it won’t change how I feel about you.”_ And that was the last they’d spoken of it.

Now that he _was_ seeing it, Len… wasn’t sure how he felt. His stomach twinged the longer he stared, the same way the body reacts to watching a stupid person on the internet maiming themselves for five minutes of fame. It looked painful. Very much so. Yet he wasn’t disgusted by it.

He wasn’t really sure why “cool” was the first word that had come to mind. But now it was out in the air, and he had to roll with it.

“I mean…” By some miracle, a scenario popped into his head, so wonderfully bizarre that he laughed and quickly gave it a voice. “It’s like you got into a fistfight with a shark and came out victorious, and that’s your battle scar. It’s badass!”

Oliver coughed roughly, a type of laugh he only gave when he was caught off-guard. That was usually a good thing.

“Y-you know, put that way…” Oliver held his cheek, his ring finger tapping lightly against the scar, and the faintest hint of a smile ghosted his lips. “That _does_ sound cool, doesn’t it?” But the smile was all too short-lived. “I wish the story really were that cool. Then maybe I wouldn’t…”

As his voice trailed off, he moved his hand higher up his face, so that his fingers hid the disfiguration almost entirely. Len’s stomach twinged again, this time in a deep sympathy.

He rested a hand on Oliver’s knee. “So what _is_ the story?” he asked softly. “Just if you wanna tell it.”

Oliver looked down at Len’s hand and shrugged. “The company that made me… they don’t really have the best track record for keeping their Vocaloids in one piece. It was just superficial imperfections with Al and Ann, theirs healed up in a year or two, but—” he chuckled humorlessly. “Our master got a ban on making Vocaloids after they screwed me up so royally. Just for a few years, but still.”

“Yours is pretty superficial too, isn’t it?” Len vaguely remembered Googling Oliver’s former housemates once. Older pictures showed a couple that had staples in their head or neck, though the most recent ones he’d seen had both Vocaloids lacking any obvious outward flaws. “Maybe a little harder to hide or heal, but still—”

“It’s not just… this,” Oliver interrupted, removing his hand just long enough to gesture to the injured half of his face. “I was supposed to be more, you know, conventional. Taller. Deeper voice. My set age was supposed to be seventeen, but they never released that information because they knew no one would believe it after how badly they mucked me up. So I’ve always called myself sixteen and everyone else just kind of makes their best guess, though it’s rarely right.”

Len hummed. Oliver was often mistaken for a child because of his petite build and soft, feminine voice. It was his number one pet peeve. Knowing now that he wasn’t even _intentionally_ built that way…

“So, um, anyway… They blew their budget trying to fix me, and that didn’t work out. So when this happened, they couldn’t afford to do much more than knock me out and stitch it up. I-I don’t even know if they ever took the eye out.”

Another _whoa_ involuntarily made its way past Len’s lips. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Like, if I do this…” Oliver closed his good eye and pressed the pads of his fingers against both sockets. “My left eye — er, what’s left of it — it feels different from the right eye, but it doesn’t feel hollow. See?”

How does a person go from being shrunken into themselves to pressing at their eyes and explaining how a melted eyeball can remain attached to a useless optical nerve in the span of just a few minutes? Len’s stifled laugh startled Oliver, and he quickly stuffed his hands back into his lap. He no longer looked so scared, at least.

“So, um…” Oliver cleared his throat. “Anyway. That’s that. Uh… any other questions?”

Len had several questions. But there was one he wanted to ask more than any other.

“May I…?” He removed his hand from Oliver’s knee and extended his fingers forward, letting the gesture finish his question.

Oliver’s face flushed and his eye went wide, but he stuttered an affirmative.

So Len, as though he were moving through water or maybe molasses, reached out and up. Touched his fingers to Oliver’s left cheek, bared to another person for the first time.

At his touch, Oliver winced, so Len waited until he relaxed to cup his cheek.

Slowly, diffidently, he traced his thumb over the scar. It was thick and mostly smooth, with the occasional indentation from the stitches that still held his eyelids together. A noise like a whimper or a grunt sounded at the back of Oliver’s throat.

“D-does it hurt?”

Oliver muttered a couple of _no_ s, eye fixed on Len’s shirt. “It, um, i-i-it hasn’t hurt in years. So you’re good. P-please, um... continue.”

Len watched his face a moment longer to ensure he was alright, then he traced the patches of burned flesh with his other fingers. They felt out-of-place on his velvety skin, but not in the way Len had expected: rather than rough and dry, they were smooth, almost glass-like.

Through the majority of it, Oliver kept his good eye closed, his brows lifted just slightly. The lamp cast a warm glow across his face, a glow that burst into glimmering light when it hit his burns.

He was… mesmerizing, in a word.

When he brought his hand back to himself, Oliver released a breath, one that Len hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Thank you.”

Rapidly, Oliver shook his head. “Why are you thanking me? I should be thanking you for, you know, not— not jumping out of the, uh, the window or… something.”

It was Len’s turn to cough-laugh. “Ollie-kun, I told you, nothing could change how I feel about you!”

“Not even knowing your boyfriend’s hideously deformed?” Oliver’s chuckle was far too forced, but he continued before Len could say anything. “Really, though. Thank you. I was so scared. But I wanted to show you at some point. And since we’re about to…” He cleared his throat. “I... figured tonight was a good time to do this. Good a time as any.”

Ah, right. In the shock of seeing Oliver unbandaged for the first time, Len had forgotten their original plan for that night. “Yeah, I mean,” he joked, “we’re gonna end up naked anyway, so might as well start from the top and work our way down, right?”

Oliver’s giggle seemed much more genuine this time; whatever tension he still held in his shoulders dissipated. He looked more relaxed than he had all night.

“Thank you,” Len said again. He brushed his fingers through Oliver’s hair, his fingers getting wet in the process. “I know this took a lot of courage. Thank you for trusting me.”

Oliver looked up at him, smiled, then looked back down to his lap, where his bandage strip still lay. He took it in his hands and straightened it out.

Len's hands twitched.

“You’re putting them back on?”

Oliver looked back up with a start. “I don’t want to ruin the mood.” He adjusted the strip between his fingers, ducking his head and muttering his next words. “I mean, staring at  _this_ while you’re trying to make love to me, there’s no way that would be… I don’t want you to—”

Before he could continue — before he could begin to rebandage himself — Len took his face in his hands. Pulled him forward. Pressed his lips to the scar where his left eye was no longer.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, perhaps more firmly than he meant. “Just like this.”

He kept his palms pressed against Oliver’s face and looked deeply into his eye. Oliver looked shocked, like he’d just been struck by white-hot lightning.

The same way Len felt.

But he meant it, he realized. This injury or deformity or whatever Oliver wanted to call it — it was a part of Oliver, a unique part of a bewitching whole. And every last inch of burned flesh, every stitch holding his eyelids together, all of it was every bit as beautiful as he was.

Looking upon his face was a blessing that had been bestowed on Len and Len alone. And he wanted to look into that face every day for the rest of his life.

On that face, Oliver’s lip began to quiver.

Then the tears started.

Warm admiration fled from Len’s veins and was replaced with a frigid panic.

“Oh, no no no no no don’t cry!” He let go, but his unsure hands came back to Oliver’s face almost immediately, wiping his tears as they fell. “If you’d be more comfortable covering it back up then go ahead! I just meant to say that you don’t have to if you don’t want to because I really do think you’re—”

Oliver muttered something, but his voice was shaking and inaudible.

“What?”

He sniffed. “I’m happy,” he repeated, holding his own hand against the back of Len’s. And indeed, he glowed brightly enough to outshine the sun and the moon and every last star in the night sky, his smile so strong it made his right eye nearly match his left.

Len would have kissed him then and there if he didn't lower his head first.

“I’ve never felt beautiful, you know.” Oliver sniffed again and swiped at his nose with his free hand. “But for once, I really feel like I am. And it’s such a strange feeling but it’s so nice.”

Now it was Len’s turn to tear up. “Ollie-kun…!”

Oliver pulled Len’s hand from his face and hugged him tightly, weeping and laughing into his shoulder. His hair still hadn’t fully dried. Gingerbread-scented shampoo filled Len’s nostrils, a familiar and comfortable scent.

He would have been perfectly content to end the night there, holding his best friend and most beloved until the sun came up.

But eventually, Oliver pulled back, eyes still watering but face radiant. “Well, um… if you’re ready, then I’m ready.”

A rush of nervous excitement overcame Len, so powerful that even the tips of his ears felt hot. No. As nice as just cuddling for hours on end would have been, there _was_ something he wanted more. “I’m ready if you’re ready.”

He cupped the still-beaming Oliver’s left cheek in his palm, pressed their foreheads together, breathed in his scent; one more time, he traced his thumb over the scar of Oliver’s left eye.

 _"Beautiful,_ ” he whispered, and then the space between them was nonexistent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pssst! To the three people who read this fic... what would y'all say if I suggested starting another collection like this, but with NSFW OliLen fics? Would anyone be interested? Because I have a lot.


	11. The Chronicles Begin, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a two-parter, friends! It'll cover the immediate events leading up to our boys getting together. Part two, with any luck, should be finished by this time next week. (I'll try to finish it tomorrow, but I have homework. So much homework. Though I suppose that's the good thing about writing a rarepair fic that only four or five people read: there's not as much pressure to turn stuff out.)
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy!

“Oliver, I… I need to talk to you.”

Len clenched his fists. He wasn’t prepared. He was _not_ prepared. But he didn’t have a choice. He had to do this.

“Look, I… we’ve been friends for… I know it’s only been like half a year, but, I mean… it feels a lot longer. You know?” He ran his fingers through his bangs, the thick layer of hair gel keeping them spiked in place preventing the action from being as smooth as he’d hoped. “And for a little while now I’ve felt like… y’know, maybe we could… I mean, it’s just — I… think I…”

He gulped heavily.

“I… I love you.”

He stared ahead, doing his best not to break eye contact, waiting and praying that he’d done everything right.

“...Alright. That was…”

Those three words were weighed with a heavy disapproval. Len’s heart sank just a bit.

“Bad?”

“Not the worst I’ve heard, but pretty damn bad, yeah.”

Groaning, Len brushed at his bangs again in a half-hearted effort to get them back into shape. “Cut me some slack. That was my first attempt.”

“A noble attempt,” Meiko assured. She licked her fingertips and swatted Len’s hands away and set to work restructuring his hair. “You’ve got a solid base. Good start. Although you might not wanna jump in with the L-word just yet. Only two types of people do that: stalkers and serial killers.”

“Well, I’m not really planning—”

“Don’t stammer so much. You gotta be confident.”

“I’m not—”

“Great.” She tapered the last of his spikes to a point, then she dropped her hands to his shoulders. “Now! Repeat after me. ‘Oliver! I like you! Date me!’”

“That’s way too forceful!”

“Gets the message across though, doesn’t it? C’mon, strong, proud! ‘Oliver! I like—’”

“I’m not planning on telling him, Mei-chan!”

Meiko had a way of both comforting and intimidating Len at the same time. But right now, beneath the frosty bite of her incredulity, he just felt stupid.

“Then why’d you bother practicing your confession?”

“Because you told me I had to.” Although he _had_ been disappointed that his attempt was deemed mediocre, but that was just more proof that it wasn’t meant to happen in the first place.

Meiko let go of his shoulders and placed her hands on her hips, the corner of her mouth pulled down. “You can’t deal with all of your problems by bottling your feelings up and waiting for them to go away.”

Len shrugged. “It’s worked for me so far.”

Closing her eyes, Meiko blew a stream of air through her mouth, tapping her tongue to the roof of her mouth a few times — _fwoooootututututu._ “Okay. So I’m guessing Rin knows about this, and I’m guessing she’s told you the same things I’m telling you.”

“Yup.”

“If you’re looking for someone to sympathize with what you’re doing but not try to convince you to be honest with him, try Miku.”

“She couldn’t keep a secret this big.”

“Yeah, you’ve got a point.” She peeked one eye open. “And if you’re telling _me_ you’re not gonna do it, I’m guessing you can’t be convinced.”

Len shook his head.

It wasn’t that he particularly _wanted_ to keep these feelings bottled away. In a perfect world, he’d be open about them: he’d tell Oliver about the anxious peace he felt when they were alone together, the quiet ache in his chest when he lay in bed alone each night, his desire to see where this relationship could lead, what it could bloom into.

But that wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. Oliver, he was certain, had no interest in him, much less a serious relationship in general. It had taken him so long to open himself up not just to Len, but to the rest of the household. For possibly the first time in his life, Oliver was surrounded by people that loved him, accepted him, took him just as he was.

If he found out how Len felt, he would feel obligated to return those feelings, Len feared. He would be put on the spot, forced into something unfamiliar and uncomfortable, but he wouldn’t say no for fear of offending Len and losing their friendship. And that would make for a very strained relationship that would ultimately ruin both Oliver’s happiness and their friendship.

Last week, Len had almost made that mistake. All the hours of pouring his heart out to his twin sister for the sake of keeping things at bay had almost been for naught in a moment of carelessness.

That was why he’d decided to share his feelings with Meiko. Maybe if there was someone else he could confide in, he wouldn’t make the same slip-up twice. He hadn’t been expecting sympathy. He just couldn’t afford to make another mistake.

He didn’t want to lose his best friend to something so selfish.

Meiko patted Len’s forearm, right over his tattoo. “You know you’re my favorite, right?”

“But I’m one dense motherfucker?”

“That’s my boy.”

Len smiled as she pinched his arm. “I’m gonna call you an idiot for keeping it to yourself, but if you need to get all those lovestruck thoughts off your mind and Rin gets sick of your shit, you know Mei-chan’s always here. And if you change your mind, I’ll help you write the most flowery love confession this side of Hokkaido.”

Indeed, she had a way of intimidating and comforting in equal measures.

“Thanks, Mei-chan.” He shrugged her hand away. “I wouldn’t hold out hope on that last one though. I honestly doubt the thought of being more’s ever even occurred to him.”

~~~

“I like you, Len.”

“Len, I really like you.”

“I like you a lot.”

“Will you go out with me?”

“Let’s be more than friends.”

“I like you.”

“I like you.”

When he ran out of words, Oliver scowled at his reflection and tried to look serious and angry. Maybe he could intimidate some kind of concrete feeling out of himself this way. But his legs were numb and burning from sitting cross-legged on the bathroom countertop and his face was too round to look scary, so, for the time being, he decided to call it a night.

He slammed the bathroom door shut and threw himself back onto his bed, stretching his legs into the air. Another mirror ritual. Another twenty minutes he’d never get back. Another fruitless effort.

From his nest on the windowsill, James chirped.

“Go back to sleep.” Oliver let his legs fall, and they gave a semi-satisfying _thump_ as they hit the mattress. “Don’t look at me and my shame.”

He’d only meant to do it once, just to try the words out, see how they felt on his tongue. Now here he was, five days in, and his head was no more clear than it was the first time.

Oliver was naive. A bit of a daydreamer, really. This was all just the work of his overactive imagination. Why stress himself out over it?

But what _else_ could Len have meant?

Last week, the two of them were where they often were on slow nights: up on the rooftop, swapping stories of how their week had gone and discussing whatever trivial topics came to mind. On that night, Len had presented him with a picture he’d taken of the producer he’d worked with that day: a young man, surely not much older than them, tall and handsome.

 _“Beat still, my heart,”_ Oliver had said.

_“That’s what I thought! I was like, damn, are you here to give me a song to sing or steal my heart away?”_

_“So? You plan on asking him out to lunch or something?”_

_“Pfft, nah. I just thought you’d like looking at him too.”_

_“Why not? You sound like you have quite the attraction to him. It might be worth a shot.”_

_“I just think he’s hot. As far as actual attraction, I think you’re more—”_

And this was followed by several seconds of violent verbal backspacing, lots of “ _Please don’t take that the wrong way_ ”s. _“I just mean that, you know, if I dated someone I’d wanna know them better. Like I know you. You know?”_

Oliver had nodded, not all too phased. _“That makes sense.”_

And it had. The few times they’d discussed romance in-depth, Len had mentioned wanting something serious, something founded on friendship rather than first impressions and physical attraction. A friendship like theirs.

And that was why Len had gotten so flustered when he’d first said that, Oliver reasoned. He only meant he wanted his future partner to be a friend to him like Oliver was. He wasn’t trying to imply that he was interested in dating Oliver himself.

...Was he?

That moment of weakness, that one moment that Oliver let himself think maybe Len _was_ implying something more, was what led him to where he was now: sulking in bed, frustrated with himself for not knowing.

_I like you._

The words didn’t feel right.

But they didn’t feel _wrong,_ either.

Another chirp sounded beside him, then fluttering, and then a tiny pair of feet landed square on Oliver’s forehead. James peered down at him and twittered questioningly.

Oliver sighed.

“I’m wasting my time, James.”

What was the point in all of this when he didn’t even know for sure that Len liked him?

The answer was obvious, at least to Oliver. No one had ever expressed romantic interest in him. He very much liked that thought, the thought that someone might like him like that.

Above all, the thought that maybe Len, his first and dearest friend, saw him as more than just a friend… it was a pleasant thought.

But Oliver couldn’t make himself understand how _he_ felt. And what if it was true? What if Len approached him and confirmed Oliver’s suspicious and then needed an answer in return? What would Oliver say?

He didn’t know. He’d spent nearly a week trying to figure out what he might say, how he might feel, but he just didn’t know.

Maybe that was okay, Oliver tried to convince himself, cooing softly and scratching James beneath his beak. It was only a premonition anyway.

Of course Len would never feel that strongly for him. No one ever had. No one ever would.

_And maybe that’s okay._

Once James had gone back to sleep, Oliver reached for his phone on his bedside table, careful not to turn too much and tip James off. This had to end. He had to stop deluding himself. And he knew who could help him with that.

~~~

“I’m guessing your little chat with Mei-chan didn’t go as expected?”

Len, forehead pressed into the kitchen table, didn’t bother looking up to acknowledge Rin. “Nah, it went fine,” he said, popping the last bit of his banana into his mouth. “I’washa goo’talk.”

“Which is why you’re drowning your sorrows in potassium, I see.”

Discarding the peel onto the table, Len felt around blindly for another one. “Nah, she had some good stuff to say.” He found what he was looking for and set to work peeling Banana #9. Meiko had been more sympathetic than he’d expected. Still, having to explain his feelings again, go into depth about these things that had to otherwise remain unspoken… it was exhausting.

He heard a  _clank_ and felt the table vibrate slightly. Great. Rin had confiscated his bowl. “You’re gonna poison yourself if you eat anymore.”

“A glorious end, wouldn’t it be?”

He was halfway through Banana #9 when he realized just how quiet the room was. He could feel Rin’s eyes boring into the top of his head, but she wasn’t making a sound. He wasn’t even sure if she was breathing.

“Alright, _alright._ ” He looked up and was met with The Look: Rin’s arms were crossed over her chest, her chin was tilted up, her eyes were hard and unamused. “What do you want?”

Rin stared down a while longer before she spoke. “I want you to let me help you.”

That was never a good idea.

“Help me how?”

Rin pulled out the chair opposite his and plopped into it. “In T-minus thirteen hours, Ollie-kun and I are gonna grab lunch together.”

“Cool. Have fun.”

“I’m gonna figure out whether or not he feels the same way.”

The last bite of Banana #9 was coughed out onto the tabletop before he even had a chance to chew it.

“No.” He plucked the fruit end from its landing spot and chewed it into paste between objections. “No no no no no no no, _no,_ **_no._** ”

“I’m sick of watching you sulk around and assume you’re in a hopeless position when you haven even bothered figuring out if that’s the case or not! If you won’t ask him, _someone’s_ gotta!”

“Asking him after I’ve told you not to goes in direct violation of The Code!”

“This is worth breaking The Code for!”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“You’re right! I wouldn’t!” She reached down to the floor and came back up with one of Len’s bananas. “Which is why I’m not gonna just up and say it. C’mon, have some faith in the power of subtlety.”

Len glowered at her across the table as she shamelessly helped herself to his stash. Subtlety. Yeah. She had all the subtlety of an operatic prima donna in full costume in a convenience store. She’d start out with open-ended questions, and when she inevitably didn’t get the answer she wanted, she’d ask it outright.

And then Oliver would know. And then…

“Rin, please don’t tell him.” He cradled his forehead against his fingertips. “I really don’t wanna put that kind of pressure on him. _Please.”_

Rin finished the bite she was on before responding. “Look. I know how worried you are. So I’ve been practicing what I’ll say. I’ll make sure I’m not too obvious.”

“And if he doesn’t give you a clear answer?”

“Then I’ll suck it up and deal with it.”

Len looked back up. Rin was leaned forward on her elbows, palms flat against the table. She wasn’t going to let this go.

But he trusted her.

“...Please don’t make it too obvious.” He leaned back into his chair and sighed heavily. He still didn’t want her even bringing it up with Oliver. Even if Rin could pull it off as she promised, what if Oliver caught on? By Rin getting involved, he’d realize that Len’s feelings were serious.

Len hadn’t meant for them to get this serious. It had just been a crush. A harmless crush.

“Don’t worry about it. Rin-nee-sama’s gotcha covered.”

Len snickered. “Oh no. It’s never good when she calls herself ‘nee-sama’.”

“Oh, no, it’ll be perfect, I promise!” Collecting the bowl from the floor, Rin stood and gave Len a salute. “Sleep tight. Next time I see you I’ll give you the report!”

Len called after her as she left.

“Can I have my bananas back?”

Rin’s middle finger gave him her response.

~~~

“Does Len like anyone?”

Rin all but slammed her phone against the table and sent Oliver out of his skin. She managed to muffle a noise, just barely, but her pupils were nearly invisible against the backdrop of nikuman-sized eyes.

And after a few seconds of gawking at Oliver, she scrambled to recompose herself, glancing back down at her phone as if nothing had happened.

Oliver suddenly felt nauseous.

_Oh no._

He’d invited Rin out to lunch in the hopes that he could put his suspicions in their graves. He’d ask Rin, she’d confirm Len liked someone else or merely liked no one, and that would be that.

This day was not going as he’d planned.

“I dunno,” she said. “You know him. He doesn’t really tell me a lot about who he likes and all.”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than did she wince so heavily her whole body contracted into itself. That was all the proof he needed that she knew that _he_ knew that she was lying through her teeth.

_Oh no._

“How come? He mention someone?” Her eyes cut up at him from over the top of her phone (which she was practically hiding behind now), cut back down just as fast.

 _Or do_ you _like him?_

The words went unspoken, but Oliver could still hear them, hanging thick in the air.

“Just… curious, I guess.”

Rin made another noise — it was supposed to sound casually inquisitive, Oliver guessed, but it sounded more confused, if not panicked. “Well, I’ll keep you updated if he tells me anything.”

“Okay. Sounds great.”

And then the topic was dropped.

Rin’s smile, however, stayed right where it was.

~~~

“ _Guess who’s got some awesome news?!_ ”

A shrill and undignified scream left the very naked Len’s throat as he scrambled for the towel he’d just discarded on the floor. “Can you _knock?!_ ”

“Can you lock your door?” Rin, unphased by her freshly-showered brother’s state of undress, shut the door behind her just as forcefully as she’d opened it. “Ollie-kun likes you too!”

Len nearly dropped his towel again.

“Rin, that… that’s so mean.” He sat on the opposite side of his bed and pulled the boxers he’d laid out with him so that he could dress in something resembling privacy. “You shouldn’t say that.”

“Oh come _on._ You really think I’d lie about this?”

Len was shaking so hard he could hardly get his feet through the leg holes. No. She _wouldn’t_ lie about something like this. Rin was a tease who thrived from getting on his nerves, but she was also fiercely protective of him. She had been there for every crush and heartbreak he’d experienced. She’d endured endless hours of heart-to-hearts and given him a shoulder to cry on whenever he needed it. She’d threatened to rip out one person’s throat (and shove a very large item very painfully up a very small orifice) for hurting him once. She knew how much the thought of love meant to him.

She knew how much Oliver meant to him.

“Did he… did he actually say he likes me?”

“No.”

A flash of white filled Len’s vision, but he wasn’t sure if it was anger or shock or disappointment or what.

“But! But, hear me out! He brought it up before I did. He was like ‘Hey, does Len like anyone?” And I was like ‘I dunno, he hasn’t said’ and he seemed a little disappointed and got all blushy and said to tell him if I found out. Len, it was all there. He didn’t have to say it. I could _see_ it.”

No. No way. It couldn’t be.

Len pulled himself to his knees to retrieve his night tank from the bed and locked eyes with Rin as he did so. There was no deception in her eyes, no glitter of mischief, nothing. Just a wide, assured smile.

“Len, I really think you’ve got a chance.”

Those were dangerous words.

And starting that night, Len let himself believe them.

~~~

There was no mistaking it.

When the were together, on the rooftop or in the living room or whatever, Oliver would go off about the migratory habits of XYZ species of bird or whatever constellations were in the sky that night. He’d look over mid-sentence, when he was certain the sight he’d catch would be fully candid.

Len would right himself quickly, but not before Oliver saw the way he rested his cheek in his palm, the gentle smile that gave his face the softest glow. And try though he might, he couldn’t blink away the stars in his eyes quite fast enough.

Oliver was good at pretending he hadn’t noticed, but it always made him feel a little dizzy.

There wasn’t much room left for doubt. Len’s feelings for him were romantic.

“I like you too.”

“I’d love to go out with you.”

“I feel the same way.”

“Let’s be together.”

It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel wrong.

Oliver muffled a frustrated scream into his pillow.

Why couldn’t he just feel the same way? Now that he knew someone loved him — now that he knew that someone was his best friend, his favorite quasihuman— why could he not confidently say he loved him back?

Didn’t he owe Len that much? He’d done so much for Oliver, stuck with him from day one, helped him feel truly welcome and happy and cherished. The least Oliver could do was love him in return.

But he was too worthless to even do that much, wasn’t he?

Oliver wasn’t sure if the stress of the situation had driven him to this point or if he’d forgotten to take his medications that morning or if his brain just hated him, but the Tuesday after his conversation with Rin, he was listless. Unmotivated.

It was his first depressive episode since before the whole ordeal had begun. So for that evening, he decided to set his pride and frustrations aside and seek out comfort from the one he always found it in.

“Did anything trigger it?” Len asked once Oliver explained his situation. The adults had gone out drinking and Rin and Miku and Gumi were having their monthly girl’s night, so it was just the two of them on the living room couch. The quiet was strange, yet Oliver was happy for it.

“I don’t know.” Oliver stared into his lap, where he twiddled his thumbs together. “I just kind of want to disappear, that’s all.”

He fought off a wince when he felt Len’s hand on his shoulder. It was a kind gesture, far more kind than he deserved.

“I know. But things are gonna be okay. Until then, is there anything I can do to help?”

Oliver shrugged. “Just… stay with me for a bit, I guess.”

_Stay with me so you can pine after me while I leave you hanging indefinitely, because that’s the kind of friend I am I guess._

“Oliver? Would it be alright if I gave you a hug?”

Oliver’s breath caught in his throat.

It wasn’t the question that caught him off guard; they’d hugged before. It wasn’t uncommon. But to Len, he had always been Ollie-kun. That was the first time he’d heard his full name on Len’s voice.

He nodded without realizing it.

Len was a very touchy-feely person, and when he didn’t know what to say, he would offer an embrace instead. On nights when his depression was taking its toll on him, Oliver had become accustomed to consoling side-hugs and the occasional strong, full-bodied hug.

This hug was neither.

Len didn’t pull him tight like he sometimes did when Oliver needed comfort, and he didn’t pat him on the back like he did during a casual hug. His palms rested against Oliver’s back, purposefully, yet softly; Len pressed his cheek against his head and just held him like that for God-knew-how-many breathless moments. Oliver wasn’t sure if what he was hearing was his own blood rushing in his ears or Len’s pulse racing against him. Maybe it was both.

When he pulled back, he looked dazed, his face the brightest shade of red Oliver had ever seen. He smiled and muttered something about how he hoped that had helped and then excused himself to get Oliver a glass of water.

Long after he was out of sight, his warmth lingered on Oliver’s clothes and skin, penetrated down into his bones. He didn’t move until Len returned. He didn’t want that warmth escaping him. It was pleasant, the gentlest and most assuring sensation he’d ever felt. It made him feel anxious and content in equal measure, and it followed him to his bed, lulling him into a blissful, restful sleep.

Was that it? Was that what love felt like?

Because, well... he wanted to feel it more.

~~~

Rin was right.

Holy shit, Rin was _right._

It was subtle at first, almost indistinguishable. The night of Oliver’s episode, he’d stayed close to Len’s side until he was ready to retire to his room. Len hadn’t thought much of it. On his bad nights, Oliver sought out touch. It didn’t mean anything.

But during the nights that followed, it continued. Oliver would voice some kind of excuse — _Hey, check out this bird meme I found! It reminds me of James so much!_ — and he would scoot as close to Len as he could, their hips and legs and thighs touching. And then he wouldn’t move again until they both got up.

They’d linger outside of their rooms for nearly an hour every night, chasing any rabbit they could find just to keep talking. Oliver would fiddle with his hands and giggle and blush, and when both finally decided their desire to sleep outweighed their will to keep the conversation going, Oliver was every bit as hesitant as Len felt to leave.

Len and Rin managed to have a day off on the same day, so Oliver came along with them to wreak havoc upon their small town (if one can call a casual get-together of teens “wreaking havoc”). While at the park, Rin had run off to feed the ducks at the pond, leaving the two boys alone on a bench.

“Isn’t Rin afraid of ducks?” Oliver asked.

“Not most ducks. It’s just that these ducks hate her and she hates them back.”

Sure enough, Rin walked straight past the pond and out of sight.

Len looked at Oliver just as he did the same.

He knew. He knew just as well as Len did why Rin had run off.

And he smiled, a rosy blush dusting his cheek and nose.

Rin was right.

Rin was _right._

But Len didn’t want to press the issue. Not yet. Oliver had always been shy and uncertain. If this really _was_ going to go beyond friendship, Len wanted to wait until Oliver was ready.

He just prayed he wouldn’t have to wait too long.

~~~

Oliver had been thinking too hard. That was his problem. He’d been trying to use logic to make sense of an emotion.

Being with Len felt as natural as hitting a mid G. He loved the closeness, the contentment, _everything._ He even found an odd sort of joy in the sadness of being alone when a busy day kept them apart.

As he went about his days, he began daydreaming again, he realized. Daydreaming of walking hand-in-hand with Len, laughing and glowing in the attention given to them by passersby. Len wrapping an arm around him, pulling him close, nuzzling his cheek. Len cradling his face, kissing him tenderly in the faint evening light.

It sounded so wonderful.

This was it, wasn’t it? This was love.

So… why not?

He’d confess the next time they were on the roof together, he decided. The rooftop was where they’d shared their most intimate moments. What better place to launch the beginning of something more?

That night came. They settled on the rooftop together, hip-to-hip.

And Oliver’s mind took over once more.

Was he really ready? This was a big plunge to take. Relationships require lots of work, after all. But he wanted this. He wanted to be held and kissed and showered in words of adoration.

But what about the days where that didn’t happen? What if they disagreed? What if they fought? If they took this step, then there would be more at stake than just their friendship.

But if there was love, wouldn’t that be a risk worth taking?

The argument raged in his head even as they got up and stretched their limbs and made their way back downstairs. He willed himself to stop thinking, to just remember how happy being with Len made him. How happy being loved made him.

He wanted to be loved.

So why not?

At their doors, the words wouldn’t come to him like they should have. He wanted to give Len a proper confession, but looking into those cerulean eyes drained his courage. So before he could think too hard about what he was doing, he closed his eye and pulled himself against Len.

Being so close, he could feel the rush of heat that radiated from Len’s body from the action. (Or maybe it was just him.) His right palm found the small of Len’s back; the left, the top of his spine. The side of his face he rested against Len’s neck, and in that ear he could hear the _thud-thud-thud_ of Len’s pulse. (Or maybe it was his own heartbeat ringing in his ears.) A quiet gasp filled the air around them — that was definitely Len. Oliver felt his chest expand against his in time to the noise.

...It felt right.

“Len?” Although he spoke quietly, his voice still cracked.

“Yeah?” Len’s response wasn’t much louder, was no more collected.

Oliver gulped.

_I love you._

The first syllable passed his lips when his inner voice whispered its rebuttal.

_Or do I just like the thought of being loved?_

A suffocating silence fell over them.

“...I’m listening,” Len assured. He met Oliver halfway, returned the embrace he’d initiated. His heartbeat was so present, so deafening, reverberating against Oliver’s eardrums.

Would Oliver feel any differently if anyone besides Len loved him? _Of course,_ he wanted to say. Len was his best friend. Of course it wouldn’t be the same with anyone else. But what if Oliver had another friend besides Len? Another boy that he was close to, a boy that loved him? Even if he had Len, and if Len’s feelings weren’t romantic, would Oliver still love Len, or would he default to whichever boy loved him?

He couldn’t do this.

Why not?

_Because I don’t know._

“I… I’m cold.” He chuckled, a humorless _heh_. “I got cold outside. You’re warm.”

Though it was night, the dark roof tiles had soaked up the mid-late-summer rays and kept the two of them toasty while they’d been up there. It wasn’t much cooler inside.

“...Oh.”

The embrace felt heavy and uncomfortable. Oliver pulled away, looked down at his feet.

_I’m sorry._

“Well, I’m glad I could warm you up! Honestly I was… kinda cold too. So, um, thank you.”

His words were nonchalant, but his voice was strained.

Oliver looked up, and immediately he wished he hadn’t.

The forced smile did little to hide it. Etched into Len’s face was a look Oliver had seen many times before, yet a look he’d never expected to see in _that_ face, not directed at him.

Disappointment.

Oliver wanted to take it all back, throw himself back into Len’s arms, feed him words of love until it all became senseless babble but he didn’t know, he didn’t _know,_ he _didn’t know_ and what if it was all a lie? But what if he meant it and just needed that final push? _But what if it was a lie?_

He quickly excused himself. Whether he said goodnight or not he didn’t know, he just turned and rushed to his room and waited against the closed door.

In the hallway, Len’s door clicked shut.

He was disappointed. Len was disappointed. Once more Oliver had left him waiting. And this time Len hadn’t even tried to disguise how that made him feel.

Couldn't he have just said it? He'd almost said it. So what if he wasn't one-hundred percent sure? Why didn't he just say it?

All this time, had Oliver been leading him on? Was that all this was? He’d given Len exactly what he wanted and then dropped it at the last possible second and now… Now, he...

Oliver’s sight went blurry. His legs shook beneath him and he felt dizzy, as though he was caught in the epicenter of an earthquake. He finally gave up holding his weight and he slid down the door and that was where he stayed for the rest of the night, crying into his folded arms.

He really was a worthless excuse for a friend.


End file.
